Chapter Text
It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Jean to be cooped up in her office til the early hours of the morning.
If anything, it’s odd when she isn’t sitting at her desk at 11 in the evening, nose deep in some file she had been handed, slaving away as the papers pile up on the tabletop.
She puts her head in her hands, releasing a breath she didn’t know she was holding. The exhale comes out loud, exhausted, stressed, making it clear to anybody who hears or sees that she’s not okay.
She gets a few moments to relax, yet she still thinks of the workload, the problems to solve, the issues at hand that she’s far too overworked to even care about, but that won’t do, will it?
She needs to care. The people of Mondstadt need her, her people, her friends and family, the civilians she swore an oath to protect in the name of Barbatos.
She can’t afford to not care. She can’t afford to be tired, or exhausted, or stressed, or feeling any sort of emotion, be ignorant on the cases piling up at her side, run away from all of the issues that seemingly all turn back to her, her issues, her problems, the entire town leans on her, it’s always her. Her, her, her. Jean, Jean, Jean, the acting grandmaster, the dandelion knight, the protector, the hero, the saviour, all the names forming together into one big mess. She needs to control, she needs to protect, she needs to retaliate and answer and call out to nobody at all, nobody will answer, nobody will help—
“Jean” somebody calls out to her, pulling her from the hell that is her mind. She looks up, staring at the blue haired man with furrowed brows, the grip in her hair tight enough to give her a headache, her knuckles turned white under the pressure.
She doesn’t realise the tears streaming down her cheeks, her eyes puffy, her mind spiralling down, deeper, darker, into places she’s seen before but was too afraid to let it show.
“Kaeya,” she whispers, quickly wiping her tears and clearing her throat, looking down at the paper in front of her, pen already back in hand, scribbling on the margins to make it seem like she’s being productive.
“It’s late, what are you doing up?”
Kaeya walks forward with his arms crossed, his boots clicking against the floor as he looks down at her, frowning.
“I just got back from the tavern. Seems to me like I should’ve brought you with me.”
Jean shakes her head, a quiet laugh coming from her lips, but it’s tasteless, sad, pitiful even. She can’t even fake it, like she always does. That bitter feeling on her tongue lingers, the thought of laughing happily at a moment like this makes her feel nauseous.
Kaeya steps in front of the desk, resting gloved hand atop the wood, running his fingers over one of the files. He decides there, without reading any of the information, to take it, take some weight off of her shoulders. He doesn’t say anything, just grabs the paper, folding it and tucking it into his pocket. He sighs.
“I think you’ve done enough for today, Jean” he says quietly, reassuringly, like it’s so obvious that she’s done everything she can do.
She sure doesn’t feel that way.
She feels like there’s a heavy weight on her shoulders, constantly pressing down on her, shouting in her ears, tugging at every inch of skin on her body as she slowly melts into the ground in her own self pity, everybody standing around her, watching her like it’s an ordinary day, because it truly is ordinary.
Heaviness, noise, the feeling of her body slowly imploding on itself as she ticks task after task after task, and yet it’s still not enough to give her a break, to let her be free for one moment, to let her do one thing for herself. It’s hell, it’s agony, it’s her wishing that this pain would just be over already.
Kaeya clears his throat, tugging at his glove, finding anything to do with his hands.
“Perhaps you should go and see Master Diluc.”
Jean lets out a breath, almost like a scoff, minus the humour.
“Why would I need to see him? I’m perfectly fine here.”
Kaeya shrugs, his lip quirking up at the memories that move through his head for a moment.
“Because, he used to put you to bed all the time when we were kids.”
Jean remembers clearly. As if she could ever forget those moments. The warm summer days, her young self dancing around in the wilderness with a young Diluc and Kaeya, playing like kids do.
The tiredness she’d feel after every day spent, refusing to rest. Diluc would stay by her side, curled up next to her, stroking her hand or her head with small, baby-like fingers, lulling her to sleep with soft touches and gentle movements.
She keeps them close to her heart, the memories. They were childhood sweethearts, after all.
Inseparable, a love blossoming like flowers in spring, gentle like the flow of a river and the hush of wind against leaves. The late night cuddles as kids, their first kiss at 13 years old, soft, innocent, two young souls finding their way to each other, unaware of anything that is to come.
Their nights grew bolder as they grew older, sneaking out as teenagers, two 17 year olds running around Mondstadt in the late evening, causing ruckus as they held each other close, kissing passionately in the shadows, hiding from the adults that tried to hunt them down.
Their first night together. Hushed whispers, hands on skin, open-mouthed kisses against soft and chapped lips. Quiet gasps, even quieter moans, names whispered against delicate tongues. Pulling, squeezing, pressing, feeling, just feeling. Feeling the heat, feeling the love blooming, feeling the moment between two people, meeting in that fiery dance of love for the very first time.
Feeling something.
Anything.
Anything to go back to when life was simple.
She shakes her head, the thoughts slowly clouding away, like they were never there at all.
What is she meant to be feeling?
Kaeya is already moving, switching off lamps, blowing out candles, getting ready for the night to end well after it was meant to. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it for a moment, before sighing, turning back to look at her. His best friend since childhood, the woman he sees as a sister, a person he holds dear to him, a rare occurrence.
“Rest, Jean. You deserve it.”
The door closes behind him, the quiet click giving her the chance to let out a heavy breath, clutching her chest like she was being held underwater for far too long.
She looks out the window, out at the starry sky of Teyvat, the stars that are meant to welcome you with open arms, the stars that are meant to hold a place for each and every one of them.
What is her place?
Is this all she’s good for?
An hour passes, then two.
She can barely even react to her own movements as she finally stands, grabbing her hooded cape from behind the desk, exiting the room quietly, then the headquarters, and before she knows it, she’s standing in front of the tavern, the glow from the lamp post highlighting her soft, tired features.
The tavern is dark. It closed a while ago, but there is still one light flicked on, telling her that a certain red-headed man is held back, probably overthinking just as much as she is.
She opens the door quietly, her hood over her head as she steps inside the quiet tavern, no music or chatter to be heard, just peaceful silence that soothes even her.
The man stands at the counter, back facing the door. He’s cleaning a wine glass with a rag slowly, staring at the wall in thought. He sighs as he listens to the door open, then close.
“We’re closed” he says without turning, hoping that the person will get the memo and leave him be.
She doesn’t leave.
She walks closer, boots tapping softly against the wood, telling Diluc that whoever it is, they’re not giving up.
He sighs, then turns to look at her. His face goes through a few emotions, confusion, worry, fear, relief as he notices the blonde hair sticking out from her hood, her blue eyes, as beautiful as he remembers them, staring straight back into his red ones.
“Jean” he says forwardly, not much emotion in his voice, like he’s telling instead of questioning.
Jean looks down at the glass he’s cleaning. Any more strokes and it might shatter with the way he’s been scrubbing.
“I think the glass is clean, Master Diluc.”
He looks down at the glass, letting out a breath, before placing it in its spot on the shelf, centering it before turning to look at her fully.
“It’s late” he says, yet again with no emotion, which doesn’t phase Jean. She knows Diluc, how he works. The fact that he’s not kicking her out means a lot more than a chirpy voice ever could.
She clears her throat, running her fingers along the wooden counter, looking around the room, bare of its usual patrons, no loud drunks or pesky bards screaming at the top of their lungs.
“Yet, you’re still here” she establishes like it’s something foreign. His nights usually consist of closing up early and doing some scouting around the city, keeping watch as the Darknight hero.
She knows that.
She knows him.
She’s always known him.
The thought makes her sick
Diluc looks at her, really looks. The tiredness in her eyes, her skin pale, hair messy, like she hadn’t washed it in days, her hands shake slightly as she clenched her fists. She seems out of it, like she’s fighting demons even he’s never faced.
He moves around the counter, closer, a frown playing on his lips as he places a hand gently on her arm, snapping her out of whatever thoughts she’s thinking about.
She looks at him in a daze, like the touch is electric, like a thousand memories just came flooding back to her, young, old, childhood dreams, glances, love, the feeling of his hands against her skin, his face, his hair, his eyes, his lips, thinking, growing, playing, kissing, holding, feeling, feeling, feeling.
“Jean” he snaps her back from her thoughts overtaking her again.
She exhales, looking into his eyes, deep, red like blood, but not really. Red like sunsets, like heat, like love, anger, fear, like all the emotions she feels right in his irises, staring back at her like a taunt.
Does he see those same emotions in her eyes?
Blue like grief, like sadness, sorrow, pain, stress, a fear of not being good enough for this world, for her role as grandmaster, her mind, the thoughts plaguing her late at night when nobody is watching, when nobody can notice she’s drowning, when nobody can see the damage she does for the safety and protection of her city, her priorities, her kindness, her strength.
What strength?
What could he possibly see that Jean can’t see herself?
Before she can even react to herself, her forehead is pressed against his shoulder, hunching over as she rests against him.
What is she doing?
Get off of him.
He doesn’t want you anymore.
Diluc’s hands hover over her back, unsure of where to touch, should he at all. The soft breaths from her nostrils heats his shoulder like those warm summer days as kids. It grounds him.
He takes her waist in his hands, smoothing over her hips with his thumbs. He slowly traces up her back with delicate touch, palms flat against her spine, feeling the tense muscles under her cape.
She doesn’t know what to do
He doesn’t know what to do
The feeling of his hands, grounding, memorable, like they had never changed at all, soothes her for just a small moment. A moment that feels like eternity to her, like she can finally relax in the palms of the man who had left her.
The feeling of her warm skin against his shoulder, her breath evening out, grounding itself, planting her two feet back on the ground like she can never do herself, her resolve slowly shattering, her eyes closing slowly, letting the warmth take her, take her back to places where life was simpler, where life was okay, where she was okay.
The feeling
Feeling
Feel, feel, feel
Why can’t she feel happy? Why is it only disparity, stress, grief for a loss she hasn’t experienced yet, or maybe she has, for her life, for what could’ve been, for what she could have, for what she wants
Her hood slips from her head, or at least she thinks it does, maybe it was tugged at. Diluc’s hands slide into the soft blonde locks, massaging her scalp with the soft caress only she could ever feel from the man.
Feel
What does she even feel right now?
She pulls back from his shoulder, tears falling like they did earlier, although, this time, they feel okay. They feel like they’re meant to be.
She’s meant to cry.
She’s meant to feel like this.
She doesn’t need to be okay.
Diluc’s hands move to cradle her face, gently, softly, like they did all those years ago.
“Jean..” he whispers, looking around her face, at the soft streaks from age, her tears, her puffy eyes from days of tiredness, of working late, of thinking, just thinking.
She doesn’t know what to say
She doesn’t know what to feel
For once, she does what she wants.
She leans forward, pressing her lips against his, gentle, sweet just like they were kids again, kissing under the moon before everything changed.
Diluc caresses her face, rubbing his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping tears that were still falling, running down her face like a release she had been holding back for so, so long.
He pulls away for a moment, staying close, not wanting to leave, even for a moment. He looks into her eyes, seeing that same girl he fell in love with all those years ago as a child, those beautiful blue eyes, bright like the sky, like the stars they had once spoken to.
Diluc can see it in her eyes
She feels
She feels happy, she feels sad, angry, stressed, heartbroken, in love, she feels good, she feels bad, she feels the things humans are meant to feel, she feels human
She is human
Jean can see it in his eyes
A thousand words packed into the red irises that had looked at her like she hung the stars.
She feels a sense of Deja-vu. Memories flowing slowly through her mind, those beautiful eyes, from the child-like wonder they had experienced as kids, to the traumatic, blank stare from adulthood, so many things had happened, so many thoughts, so many feelings.
Feelings
That cursed state of life, when you’re so far gone, but you’ve only hit the tip of the iceberg. Those feelings will never leave, she’ll be trapped in her state of mind forever.
But why should it have to be so hard?
Why should the feelings that flow through them stop them from being happy while they still can? Curse the moments that split them apart, they still remember their promises, their sweet, innocent promises, vowed to never break
They’re so, so broken, but Lord Barbatos knows they are so full of love, so capable of feeling okay despite the atrocities of the past, despite the weight they carry every day of their lives, through the thick and the thin, they will love.
They will feel
That’s what they’re made for
That’s who they are