Sincerely,

sincerely,

yours truly (part one). / sincerely (part two).

premise: your diligent efforts to uncover the identity of your secret admirer had ultimately amounted to nothing. in fact, your investigations only raised more questions — your companions' strange behaviors and shifty-eyed gazes hadn't completely escaped from your awareness, not to mention you've become... privy to some of their affections...

and what is the last thing you need while trying to search for one person who liked you? more people to like you, of course!

but that is exactly what you receive. (goddamn it all.)

includes: zhongli, kaeya, scaramouche, itto & the real secret admirer !

note: oh god i have done it. it's even longer than the other one but since this is the 10k celebration fic, it's only rightfully so! i hope you enjoy this... likes and reblogs are appreciated <33 please read the first part if you haven't already!

zhongli:

all things considered, zhongli is an unrelated figure to your personal issues, not particularly concerned with such trifling matters. you lived worlds apart, and he's generally preoccupied by his own studies anyway, too absorbed in his thesis to mind who has a crush on who and whatnot.

yet it seems as if fate is intent on pulling you two together whether you like it or not.

you belong in different majors, your lecture halls on opposite sides of campus, and he's an upperclassman. not to mention the upperclassman everyone looks up to, the senior equivalent of albedo. though he holds an air of benevolence and warmth, he's unapproachable in the way nobody would dare impose themselves in fear of bothering him with their presence.

professors only speak of his name in accordance with endless words of praise, and legend has it that any paper he proofreads is guaranteed to receive a high grade... not that anyone could confirm it, since nobody has been gifted that luxury.

except for you, of course, living the y/n life — you'd been slaving away on your assignments per usual at diluc's cafe when, in a moment of misfortune, zhongli had crashed into a waiter and spilled his coffee on your papers, soaking pale sheets in brown splatters and smudging the inked sentences you'd painstakingly written for the past hour.

if only your laptop hadn't run out of battery, you wouldn't have resorted to drafting with pen and paper. or you could have done your work in a later date instead of being productive for nothing. fuck.

witnessing your expression crumpled to disbelief and misery, zhongli apologized through offering his assistance in doing your assignment with you. and oh boy, he did it well. it was better than what you could've ever done, the insight he provided beyond profound. he was humble even as you showered him with compliments, still looking quite apologetic for the fiasco he caused.

and. right. it could've ended there. after that occasion, you would wave at him if you passed by each other at the hallways, but that's where the extent of your relationship ended, a pair of underclassman and upperclassman who'd known each other once.

but of course it's never that easy.

he pops up when you least expect it, running into you frequently even though the rumors articulated “you'd hardly get a glimpse of him since he's busy all the time” clearly. and he's acquainted with people you know well, just that you never paid attention to it; keqing seems to respect him a lot, so does xiao, ganyu perks up whenever he's brought up in conversations, and childe sticks to him when given the opportunity. perhaps it was only a matter of time that you begin a friendship with him as well...

but what's up with these horribly timed drama tropes you keep experiencing with him?!

bumping into him and dropping your books to the floor so he offers to walk you to the library, locked into a room when a professor asks you to collect materials for class with him and the door has a faulty knob, getting photographed by a student while you study in the same table and everyone assumes you're dating,,

you've been seeing far too much of him.

everyone's patience has been wearing thin. xiao tries his best to keep his annoyance at bay but fails. childe has resorted to bribing zhongli for free lunch to lead him away from you. albedo straight up drags you to the opposite direction whenever he spots zhongli within vicinity.

but it's like there's a force of nature compelling you to stick right back to him.

hosting events for college fests had never been your kind of thing, but attention follows you if you're acquainted with famous people, and keqing was unwilling to be an emcee if she didn't have a friend alongside her to act as a second host. of course, that meant everyone was deadset on dragging you with her.

you're not very keen on standing on a stage to face the whole school like a kid participating in a talent show, but you've never been good at saying “no” to your friends.

hence why you find yourself clutching on a microphone now, blinded by bright stage lights. you would much prefer if you were part of the audience. or if you were in ayaka's place instead, holding up cue cards behind the curtains.

there's some kind of beauty pageant going on, a popularity contest for the prettiest people in uni. votes are collected via online polls, and you're tasked to reveal the top 10. you don't doubt for a second your friends will all join you on stage eventually, and you've already asked ganyu to drag xiao up the platform if he tries to escape. sweeping off a piece of confetti by your shoulder, you flip open the folden paper in your hand and announce the winning names.

zhongli steps up as one of the candidates for first place and you faintly hear gasps of awe and high pitched squeals.

you nod at him in acknowledgement, and he returns the gesture in kind. you head on over to hand him a mic of his own, keqing busying herself by doing the same job for other contestants, and...

in your carelessness, distracted by fumbling with the paper in your hand to hide it back inside your pocket, you trip over an electrical cord.

you've been waiting the entire night for the time where you'll eventually embarrass yourself in front of a crowd. perhaps a voice crack in what's supposed to be a tense situation, a stutter in your words, falling off a stage even, but here it is, even more horrifying than what you could've imagined.

squeezing your eyes shut instinctively, you brace yourself for the hard surface to tumble onto. instead, what meets you is something squishy, someone's hands gripping around your shoulders, and-

FUCK. you banged your knees on the ground.

the first thing to pop in your mind is a myriad of swears that could stun a sailor.

the second is the oddly plush surface your lips had landed on.

the third is the sight of widened golden eyes. they look very familiar. but you'd rather not think about who they belong to.

the ugly screech of the microphone dropping to the floor is drowned out by gasps, yelling, and the scandalized choke of keqing behind you. xiao — who did end up being a contender for the stupid popularity contest and is standing only a few meters away, makes an alarming noise that could trigger a person's fight or flight reaction.

you hastily attempt to rise to your feet, but the floor is slippery what the actual fuck, and zhongli, oh for fuck's sake, innocent and oblivious zhongli grabs your hips to keep you steady.

.....of course the accidental kiss and caught in a compromising position tropes were going to happen eventually.

kaeya:

“it's from me.”

your gaze travels from the fresh, new bouquet of flowers emitting a sweet fragrance lying in your arms, and the face of the man currently standing before you, lips curled in what seems to be a supposedly reassuring smile.

“you mean... this and the carnations last time?”

his lips are still firmly quirking upwards, admirably patient in spite of reiterating the same phrase over and over again whenever probed with your repetitive questions.

still, he doesn't quite give off the impression of someone deeply infatuated.

and okay, not to be narcissistic, but you expected a secret admirer to... well, admire you more, yet this person looks as nonchalant as ever.

and he doesn't look like the type to profess love through subtle means. at all.

you'll be blunt. you've heard of kaeya. who hasn't? whether it be of mischief, or something more scandalous in nature, he's more or less always involved with trouble, gossip about him traveling fast. it may be an insane prank in the boys' dormitory or someone he bedded (who's supposedly out of everyone's league, yet fell for his charms so easily), you hear of his name quite often.

it's just that you didn't expect you'd associate yourself with him...

and if you have at least two brain cells to rub together, you can easily piece together the conclusion: this guy is definitely talking out of his ass.

nobody has ever heard of kaeya pining over someone so badly that he personally sent bouquets and other small gifts to appease them, admiring them from the shadows. it's so clearly not his style. if he likes someone, he'd flirt with them a bit and cleverly worm his way into their heart, and absolutely not give away presents expecting nothing in return.

but if he's not your secret admirer, then for what reason is he pretending like he is?

you want to seek the truth, and playing along for the meantime sounds like the best option. and this may draw out the real secret admirer, the sly part of you voices internally.

thinking it'll be rude to turn him down publicly (since of course he initiated this exchange in the middle of a crowd, and that only gives you more reason to doubt him), you decide to see how things go first.

if anything, this whole “wooing” business with kaeya seems like it's done out of spite. does he have a bone to pick with you? or he made one of those stupid “it'll only take a week for you to fall for me” bets with his friends? hopefully not, because that's terribly out of trend.

your indifferent responses do nothing to deter him from sticking to you like glue though, doing this and that to earn your favor. he's... not doing anything wrong, actually. if you didn't know any better, you'd think he's like any other eager guy who wants to receive your love.

he does a great job of remembering what things you like and dislike, making a habit of inviting you out for a meal in your favorite restaurants every now and then or taking note of what movies you're looking forward to so you could watch it in the cinema together.

... it feels more like hanging out with normal friends now.

kaeya eases into the idea of that notion, too, insisting on meeting you outside of his shady “i'm your secret admirer” business. it doesn't take too long until you begin to reach out to him as well, inviting him to go shopping with you to look at jewelry together (and dear lord, does kaeya know how to accessorize) or giving him a ticket to the amusement park when kokomi bails on you. (“so i' m just a rebound? a back-up plan?” kaeya arches a questioning brow, acting deeply hurt to provoke a reaction. you smack his shoulder and he laughs in mirth.)

(he definitely tries for the “let's go to the haunted house so you can cling to me when you're scared” cliche but fails. why does he feel disappointed though...)

if given more time, maybe the time would come where you'll both just shrug off the secret admirer thing and continue on normally as friends. it'll be the last thing on your minds, a joke that never had a punchline. just some prank kaeya didn't see through the end.

but then it resurfaces when kaeya had already given you your daily dose of coffee — yes, he somehow knows the secret recipe you like, something you plan to ask him about later — but another cup is waiting at your desk, its once warm temperature turning lukewarm.

you inspect it, judging for yourself, and you confirm it's the same recipe you like.

so this one is from the real secret admirer then, the one who's still hiding in the shadows. that, or this recipe is just popular.

the people residing in the same room as you observe the scene with interest, because apparently your romance drama became a spectator sport, stares pinned in kaeya's direction.

you knew he was a fraud from the very start, but others do not, and he's not sure what to say.

someone else makes the excuse for him. “do you have another person who likes you, [name]?” amber asks innocently, essentially saving kaeya's ass without her realizing it. you let your gaze shift from her to kaeya.

“...maybe.” you place the two cups of coffee side-by-side, feigning nonchalance.

if the real secret admirer found out that someone's pretending to be him, this must be his way of saying kaeya's a fraud in front of everyone. after all, if he was actually the secret admirer, there'd be no need for kaeya to give you another cup when he'd already placed one on top of your desk.

and a couple of people already know who the real one is, anyway. xiao just doesn't want to tell you.

kaeya sends what seems to be a longing gaze your way but ends up turning away to head to his own classroom. he'd only offered to walk you towards yours, and you didn't share classes. it gives you more time to ponder how to confront him.

you didn't have to. he explained things himself.

it comes in the time you least expect, a peaceful lunch like any other. he suddenly arrived at your table, tray in hand, and sat opposite of you. “it's not me,” is the first thing he says, no context at all. he admits the obvious truth and you shovel more food in your mouth in your hopes of hiding how curious you are for what else he has to say.

“but i know who's been giving you flowers... and the coffee. also the chocolate the other day. i helped him pick out the presents, actually.” and that's where you choke because that's not what you were expecting at all.

“he was considering sending a love letter, but i told him you'd recognize his handwriting because you know him very well. and he refused to give a printed letter because he thought it was 'lacking' and you deserved better than that.” he scoffed at the thought. “and that's cute of him. endearing, if you will. but he seriously pissed me off last month and i wanted to mess with him a bit.”

“so you... tried to date the person he likes?” your expression sours. that's a dick move. he immediately shakes his head, as if to say perish the thought.

“not that. i knew for a fact you wouldn't like me anyway. i was just teasing him,” kaeya huffs. “and he got angry at me. well, it's a justified reaction. but i didn't plan on keeping up the charade for long. i only wanted to fool around for a few days.”

“and then?”

“...i missed the timing to pass it off as a joke. then we started to hang out like friends. but i assured him that you didn't actually think i was the real secret admirer, so he forgave me as long as i... do some work for him.”

oh. he's right about that though. and that also explains why kaeya looked so tired recently, helping out a friend with his project as a sincere apology.

“does he plan on revealing his identity anytime soon?” you can't help but ask, your eager eyes betraying the nonchalance in your voice. kaeya sighs at that, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms.

“i've been trying to convince him to. it's exhausting to look at him flailing about like an idiot. he talks about you all the time.” he frowns at the way your cheeks color. “you should try luring him out.”

you tilt your head in question. to show his point, he reaches out his arm, grabbing your hand. you let him do as he pleases, even as he brings the spoonful of your meal to his lips, and takes a bite out of it.

distantly, you hear a metal clatter against the floor and a voice cry out in surprise. you turn your head towards the noise, and you see—

the hell. it's just bennett tripping.

... but it's not like bennett dropped a metal utensil or anything. he is the one who cried out, though.

“wrong direction, sweetheart. you were supposed to look at the right. what a shame, you didn't see him picking up his fork like a fool.” kaeya laughs, releasing your hand from his grip.

he seems strangely reluctant in doing so, but you decide not to look further into it.

scaramouche:

at best, he is an unwilling spectator.

emphasis on “unwilling” because he truly does not wish to see you. like at all. you're pretty sure he hates your guts, but he'd amassed a lifetime's worth of misfortune and keeps seeing you... and the guys around you.

it's safe to say if your love life was turned into a k-drama, he'd probably seen the entire series.

he'd walked in on you when childe confessed he likes you, purple eyes narrowed into a sharp glare before he turned on his heel and left the room. he'd seen the way xiao looks at you, starstruck and excruciatingly fond, because of course scaramouche sat beside him in class (long, long ago they settled a mutual agreement to not speak to each other unless necessary, even if they hadn't verbally discussed it). he'd seen you at diluc's cafe, too, when diluc poured coffee at the angry customer. scaramouche's clothes were stained, as he was the customer sitting beside your table.

he'd seen you with kazuha when kazuha came to pick you up in the rain. he'd seen albedo draw sketches of you in the corner of his notes. he'd seen thoma with you while out for grocery shopping. he'd seen gorou follow after you not unlike a loyal puppy.

he's, reasonably, tired of seeing your stupid face and your stupid harem and he hates you.

by the looks of it, none of your friends like him. especially mona. she had a few arguments with him already. they didn't mix well, and scaramouche liked poking fun of the astrology she loved, a firm disbeliever of such things. “how is my birthday supposed to dictate my personality? or my relationship status? is this fortune-telling? tell me, then. what's my lucky color for the day-” and he only shut up when mona landed a clean kick to his shin.

...yeah. he's kind of an asshole. the type to scowl 24/7, glare at you for no reason, and bump into you without apologizing. then when you do try to make small talk to alleviate the awkward atmosphere, he scoffs and pointedly ignores you.

but you can't blame him for finding you and... the guys following you irritating. you imagine it must be an eyesore for outsiders. there's already quite a bit of rumors about you going around seducing men (and women, you add, because apparently you can't be friends with pretty girls without having those kinds of intentions... and yoimiya and ayaka could be somewhat touchy) and rumors are almost always wildly changed with each pass of gossip from one person to another.

of course your friends don't believe it one bit and are ready 24/7 to defend your honor, but scaramouche is very obviously not your friend, and he may regard you with something less than pleasing.

it's only understandable you're caught by surprise when you chance upon him picking a fight with people badmouthing you, shoving a boy to the wall with brute force you wouldn't expect from someone his size. (you berate yourself for making fun of his height in this kind of situation.)

“shut the fuck up,” scaramouche drawls out, fisting the boy's shirt collar. “your voice is grating to the ears. surely, you have better things to do than yap nonsensical bullshit out in the open?”

“what's your fucking problem?!” the guy responds, panicking within his grip. “it's not like we were talking about you! don't think so highly of yourself!”

that prompts a scoff from him, and he tightens his hold on the boy's collar. he immediately shuts his mouth, thinking it better not to retaliate. scaramouche's glare promises something beyond simple violence if he continued to act prideful.

somwhat satisfied by the fear glistening in the guy's eyes, scaramouche finally releases him. “scram.”

the group runs off, and you quickly duck behind a wall to hide from his sight as he walks away. you're not sure what to feel, conflicted by his usual prick demeanor and shockingly kind(?) actions behind the scenes.

unfortunately, your confusion reflects directly on your face. after a handful of times catching you staring at him, he finally snaps, “what do you want.”

your expression twists into something complex, and scaramouche's frown deepens. “uh... no, it's nothing, really...”

“you've been looking at me all day. do you take me for a fool?”

your face sours. so much for planning to thank him. maybe he didn't stand up for you and actually just found the noisy gossiping annoying enough to choke a guy and pin him to the wall. if it's scaramouche, it isn't too far-fetched at all.

and what were you going to say to him, anyway? it's not like he explicitly stated he did it for you. it would be beyond mortifying if you thanked him for it and he clarified that little detail, thinking you were stuck-up enough to assume the world revolves around you.

... no, that's too much overthinking, isn't it...

“well?” scaramouche impatiently taps his foot, raising an eyebrow expectantly. you hold back a defeated sigh and decide to stay put.

“sorry if i made you uncomfortable. i was, um, looking at...” who does he sit with again? “xiao!” you mentally apologize to your friend, using his name as an excuse.

impossibly, he becomes more irate than before, his taps ceasing into a calm quiet. the silence pierces more than the tense conversation prior.

without another word, he walks away.

...well. okay. that was safely evaded.

life continues on per usual. you don't interact for the next week, and you want to leave it at that.

except your life is a joke. a romantic comedy you never wanted to be a part of.

...you're assigned to a group project. with him. with childe too, no less. the childe who confessed his love to you not too long ago and you still have problems wrapping your head around it, not sure how to talk with him like you did before.

amidst this drama, scaramouche is stuck smack dab between you. he's unquestionably furious.

he's present when childe looks at you in the same excruciating way xiao does. he's present when childe tries to make jokes to ease off the tension, and it doesn't work in the slightest. he's present in the lingering gazes, awkward pauses when you graze fingers as you hand materials to each other, and reluctant conversations that never last any longer than seven clipped sentences.

scaramouche feels wronged. had he committed a war crime in his past life to deserve this despair?

and you. you just want to get this over with. collect information, make a powerpoint, and present in front of the whole class. easier said than done.

the three of you together doesn't sit right with you, but left with only two isn't any better either. childe and scaramouche don't get along if you leave them long enough for an argument to brew. scaramouche hates you and doesn't fill the silence when childe leaves for a bathroom break. childe tries too hard to talk when scaramouche leaves for a coffee break.

when the first day of working together ends, you nearly cry tears of joy.

“i can walk you home,” childe offers out of goodwill. it's certainly not because he has other intentions in mind, he's just concerned since it is pretty late.

“we take the same bus,” scaramouche speaks, for the first time joining your conversation. “we can go together.”

childe smiles in relief, lifting a hand to ruffle your hair. then he stills. old habits die hard. damn.

for his sake, you don't comment on it. you walk out of the library, scaramouche in tow.

the stroll to the empty bus stop isn't a comfortable one, but at the very least, you're accompanied by an acquaintance and you don't have to feel anxious being alone. you take a seat as you wait but scaramouche chooses to remain standing, placing a fair amount of distance between you.

“...you haven't made up?”

his voice is small, almost swallowed by the howling winds. you're surprised he wants to talk about it, but you laugh. “we didn't fight or anything.”

“fighting would've been better,” he replies. “an apology could still repair your relationship. but there's nothing you can do if you don't see him that way, and he can't see you as a friend.”

you look down at your feet, heels resting firmly against the pavement. “yes... it's tricky. i don't know how to act around him. i don't want to hurt him, but... maybe not rejecting him is painful, too.”

“then turn him down properly.”

“it's not that easy...”

“would you rather him still have hopes for a chance with you and eventually get disappointed instead of dealing with it once and for all?”

he makes an excellent point. it's reasonable enough... but you don't know how to bring it up with childe. not now. not yet. you'll have to think about it properly, the way to reject him with the least amount of discomfort from his side.

“receiving relationship advice from you... if someone told me this would happen today, i'd think they've gone mad.” you chuckle. “do you deal with friends whining about hardships like these often?”

“apparently, they think of me — someone who has no interest in dating — as the perfect person to consult for relationship problems.”

“hm? you don't date? do you like anyone, at least?”

he gives you a look. it's perfectly blank, devoid of his usual arrogance or irritation. you blink at him, the pause in the conversation stretching too long to be comfortable.

“you could say that. but i don't... try things i know won't work out.”

“...like?”

he rolls his eyes. “think about it this way.” he removes his hands from his pockets, approaching your seated figure. he comes startlingly close, mere centimeters away, and his fingers curl around your wrist. your lips part and close, and you wonder if he's trying to kiss your knuckles-

“if i told you now that i like you, with this many people who like you too, there's no way i'd win, is there?”

it's an example, you tell yourself. you asked him a question and he answered it.

“...so the one you like is popular...”

but his gaze looking directly into your eyes is too earnest, too honest. sincere. light reflects against the violet pools, a turbulent storm clouding within.

you neither nod nor shake your head. the bus arrives and you scramble to get on it.

scaramouche pulls you by the wrist when you nearly trip over the small set of stairs, leading you to a pair of seats. if you have something to be grateful for, it's that he doesn't try to talk anymore, using the pair of headphones resting by his neck for the rest of the ride.

itto:

itto barges into your life in a whirlwind of chaos.

it comes in the form of a stray volleyball plummeting towards your back, and the sheer force behind it knocks the wind out of your lungs. your knees buckle and you kneel on the floor, heaving violent gasps of air. the searing pain makes you wonder if you broke your spine.

distantly, a screech bellows from the court. a figure almost flies past the gymnasium's doors to check on your condition. “are you okay?!” it's gorou, you realize, his eyes blown wide with panic.

you don't want to worry him and say you feel as if you've permanently shattered a bone, but your back hurts like a bitch and you tell him so, “fuck me with a hammer, did a bowling ball crash into me or something?”

he ignores your interesting choice of words and answers, “my friends and i were playing volleyball, i'm so sorry! we didn't see you there at all!”

you steer your sight to the gymnasium entrance and oh my god. the doors aren't especially massive, and one of them is even closed, so what are the chances you walk past the small space and precisely get slammed by a stray ball? it's gotta be lower than a five star drop in gacha.

“can you stand?” gorou holds up a hand for you to take but you really can't move away from your fetal position without an explosion of ache jolting through your body. he's three seconds away from offering to carry you when someone else beats him to it.

“did you get hurt?!” a blur of white hair passes through your eyes, and you blink up at an unfamiliar man. gorou's friend, you're guessing, most likely the one who injured you too — that powerful force from the volleyball could only come from someone like him. tall, athletic, muscular. he's ripped. shredded. probably tore your muscle fibers too.

you don't let the pain cloud your mind. he didn't mean to kill you, you remind yourself. you stretch your lips into a smile, but it may just look like a grimace.

however, with a gentleness you didn't expect from him, he carefully hoists you on his back. oh. he's strong. and really warm.

...sticky with sweat too, but you'll try not to mind it too much...

“i'll carry you to the infirmary!”

your brain clears up from the haze of agony. “...wait, you don't have to-” before you get another word in, he rushes to the clinic, and you bypass many, many people. you settle for hiding your face as best as you can.

after proper treatment, he gives you a serious apology. you learn his name is itto, and you instantly recognize him. you've heard of the name itto before, that one popular student on a sports scholarship for basketball, but he's known more for goofing off with other sports teams. he's broken a lot of windows when he played baseball... and probably also broke bones of other people when he roughhoused too much on the soccer field. it's just that he's insanely talented, enough for most people to overlook his troublesome tendencies.

anyhow, famous or infamous, you can't tell yet. but he's very much willing to make up for your injury.

a free meal would honestly suffice just fine, but even after that, he insists on following you around, offering his assistance whenever needed. and, well. you have no problems with having an extra hand to help when you need to carry heavy equipment.

then he learns about the whole secret admirer thing and he proposes he'll help you lure him out.

“and how do you intend to do that...?” you inquire just as you enter the lecture hall, itto trailing after you and setting your bag on the table. his face splits into a grin and you have a vague idea of what he plans on doing.

he wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you close to his chest.

several things happen at once. a huff leaves xiao's mouth involuntarily. the crack of pencil lead breaking into pieces sounds from beside him, scaramouche holding the pen in his hand with too much force. the laughter ringing seconds prior comes to a halt, childe's face no longer displaying a bright smile.

itto blinks, retracting his arm. he didn't expect this outcome. “you have really overprotective friends, [name].”

as one would expect, you never got the results you want because too much people react to his provocations. it's tricky to pinpoint which one of them exactly is your secret admirer when they all like you the same. (this whole situation is truly absurd. it's not that you fed all these guys love potions by accident, right?)

itto doesn't dare upsetting gorou with this though, but with anyone else, it's free game. he begins calling you the most ridiculous pet names he could come up with, in the wrong place and in the wrong time.

my precious cupcake. my sweetest honeybun. little ducky. snugglepuff. they send shivers down your spine. (albedo is noted to be most affected when itto does this. it's not hard to imagine his brain cells frying when itto shamelessly calls you by such awful names.)

but then it becomes a habit. he's not doing it ironically anymore. his mouth had become accustomed to addressing you in manners only lovers do. more often than not, your friends would be caught by surprise when he wholeheartedly calls out “babe” to earn your attention and you turn towards him as if it's like the most natural thing in the world.

the cherry on top is when you attend one of his games for the basketball team.

it's not like you wore his varsity jacket to rub into everyone's faces the fact that you're dating. nor did you wear a cheerleader outfit of some sorts to show your passionate support as his significant other. you'd only come with gorou and kokomi, waving the banner the three of you made into the air as you were seated in the stands along the sides of the court.

when they won the finals, people on your side all rejoiced, flocking over to the team to praise them and offer their congratulations. thinking it would be better to stand by instead of joining the sweaty crowd, you stood aside with kokomi while gorou insisted on diving headfirst to the sea of people.

then a tall head approaches from afar. white hair, bright eyes, and a similarly blinding smile. “[name]!”

you didn't expect him to come to you. well. spares you the effort then. you throw a towel around his neck. “you're drenched in sweat. please don't touch me.”

he frowns. “not even a congratulatory hug?”

“not when you're this gross.”

at least that wasn't a stern no. itto grins. “wasn't i great out there?” he cards his fingers into his hair, fishing for compliments. you thought he had enough of those from the crowd currently swarming him. “i did a ton of 3 pointers. you saw me, right?”

“would you be disappointed if i said i was on my phone the whole time?”

immediately, his face twists into an offended look. of course that was a lie. you laugh and lean on the tips of your toes to reach his hair, ruffling it into a mess. “kidding. you were amazing, babe.”

that moment, you hadn't seen his expression clearly, occupied with patting his head. perhaps you hadn't even realized what you called him.

but to everyone around you, they could see it, plain to the eye — the shock in his gaze, the small twitch of his lips, the rise of his brows. then his cheeks flush a lovely color as he stares at you under his lashes with a hesitance as one would look at the sun, longing to admire its radiance yet afraid to be scorched by its brilliant rays.

he takes the leap anyways, staring at you as long as he wanted.

a lovestruck fool, keen to your touch.

your secret admirer.

relatively speaking, it's an ordinary day so far.

or as ordinary as it can be with a life as silly as yours. the past few weeks didn't feel real. you wish they weren't. everything has become too complicated. everyone kept on acting suspiciously and skirting around you, avoiding eye contact only to observe you from behind.

your day starts out seeing thoma when you open your front door, both of you telling each other good morning. you pass by kazuha having breakfast at a fast food joint. then you run into itto first thing in the morning, where he gladly helps in carrying a 3d model of your project into class. kaeya swings by to bring you coffee since you didn't get a chance to visit diluc's cafe, not having the extra hand to carry among the pile you already have. you make your daily greetings, saying hi to your friends and annoying xiao, as you always do. you nod towards scaramouche, and you even had enough courage to say hi first to childe too. when walking to another lecture hall, you happen to meet albedo, gorou and zhongli in separate times.

then at lunch time, when you briefly leave your belongings alone for a moment, someone leaves a packet of candies stuffed into your bag.

a sticky note is stuck on the surface, “please meet me at the physics classroom at 6 p.m.” scrawled in black ink.

the penmanship is good. it twists in elegant curls at the edges, brush strokes light and even.

you're able to recognize it at first glance, just as kaeya has told you.

you've seen it enough times to burn it in your brain. you've rigorously studied notes with that same handwriting, after all.

at 5:56, you stand in front of the classroom doors. in different circumstances, you'd have second thoughts before blindly following somebody's orders but you know who it's from, and it is decidedly not a murderer out to get you.

you collect an intake of breath, and twist the doorknob.

the last traces of sunlight bathe the room in a heavenly glow, a haze of aureate like shimmering flecks of gold. the billowing curtains hide the figure standing by the windowsill, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks as you squint in its direction.

the figure moves of their accord, the sound of a book snapping shut following their actions.

albedo walks out, a serene smile displaying on his sun-kissed face.

“...hey.”

your heartbeat pounds in your ears. though you expected his appearance, it does nothing to dull your surprise.

“it's you.”

albedo had always admired you in quiet adoration.

he can't provide a clear explanation why his gaze is naturally drawn to you, turquoise eyes sweeping by your countenance before he realizes it. but it started out simple, as everything does: a curiosity piqued, when he heard of a person tagging along the supposedly unapproachable girls in school.

gossip comes and goes every season, and albedo knew it will pass soon. it's only a matter of time before they cling to another topic to babble about. most likely something kaeya did again, because he chases after trouble like a dog with a bone.

rumors are nasty. they paint you in malicious light, a person seeking attention among the most eye-catching lot. you wished you were on the same league as them, they said. you were only after the benefits of acquainting with those girls, they said.

but you were special on your own.

the way you carried yourself with confidence, against the judgmental stares and muddled opinions. the way you hadn't cared about what other people said, because you knew best about the situation and you were different from what they made you out to be. the way you genuinely loved your friends, sincerely wishing them happiness and doing everything you can to put a smile on their faces.

you were dazzling.

your laughter rang like bells in his ears, your grin a delight to see. your voice was melodious as you prattled on about the latest film you watched, or as you hummed a song with headphones covering your ears. your colorful expressions were amusing, a reflection of the feelings in your heart.

as the professor drones out during lessons, albedo finds himself distracted by his daydreams. what if he stood beside you? what if he could partake in conversations, not only able to hear your voice but you'd also hear his? what if he was the one faced with your smile, the reason of your smile, the one who made you feel such joy?

what if you permitted him to go further? to brush hands with you, to intertwine your fingers in simple intimacy, to curl his arms around your waist in a loose embrace, to press a kiss on the corner of your lips-

his ears burned in humiliation. what on earth was he thinking?

but forget “seeking attention from others,” it didn't even seem like you were interested in dating.

you showed indifference towards the idea, avoiding mixers and drinking parties. you also turned down quite a few dates. not to mention albedo wasn't even friends with you. he wasn't even sure if you knew of his name.

then you showed up at the library, and for the first time, albedo was thankful for the privilege nobody bothered his table, so you could sit alone together.

you became friends after his (despairingly embarrassing) insistent attempts to acquaint himself with you.

and he files away the little details, storing the small things about you in the corner of his mind. what you like, what you dislike. what days were you free, what things you prefer over the other.

it's a happiness he relishes in, the comfort of your friendship. but his greedy little heart yearns for more, for what you cannot give.

he tries anyway.

he's running out of time. you're always surrounded by people, whether you realize it or not. but he considers himself a selfish person. he doesn't want you to be taken away.

he may lose you entirely if he does it wrong.

but you're already here, eyes gleaming, lips pressed in a nervous tight line. the red dusting your cheeks leaves some hope for him, so he musters up his courage and simplifies the storm of feelings that eats away his heart each day:

“i like you, [name].”

bite my tongue, chew on ice

true to your word, you take dan heng out for breakfast after he spends the night taking care of you. it would be nice if you weren't so distracted by the way he looks at you and the stirring in your stomach.

dan heng x gn reader — 1.4k — sequel to this fic, introspection, aggressive pining, sweet and sappy oh my god it's so sappy, reader is trailblazer and this is set somewhere vaguely in canon, just stupid and cute, lots of feelings and thoughts,,,

notes: i love you dan heng hsr,,, i will love you forever and ever dan heng hsr

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

You always make good on your promises. That’s the one thing you take pride in. 

The morning after your drunken spree in Belobog, the memories of the night come flooding in, vivid enough to strip you of your remaining dignity (which isn’t much). You bore yourself to Dan Heng, sweaty and vomiting, and he’d seen more of you in one night than you ever planned on revealing to him. 

Embarrassing, yes. But you promised to get him breakfast as payment, and you don’t take breakfast (or promises) lightly. 

With minimal nagging, you manage to pry him out of his room, shutting down his remarks of it’s too early, I don’t need breakfast, are you sure you sobered up, do you need an antacid, do you even have money? in favor of linking your fingers with his and dragging him into the cool morning air of Belobog. 

(His hand doesn’t pull away from yours. You could swear that he squeezes back, the jutting knuckles of his hands digging into yours as he tightens his grip when you stumble just a little bit on the pavement.) 

When the both of you eventually get settled across from each other in a booth, a glass of water for each of you as you browse the menu, you notice the disgruntled expression on Dan Heng’s face. You can’t help but pry. It’s in your nature, whatever parts of it you have an inkling about, and with Dan Heng, your curiosity is always on high alert. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you hate this,” you can’t help the way your anxieties seep into your words. You take a tentative sip of your water (no ice, lukewarm, gross), trying to cover up the sweatiness in your palms as you beg and pray that he won’t just stand up and leave and call this breakfast a mistake. 

“No,” he says, a leading tone in his voice. His eyes trail along the unsteady movements of your hands, as your fingers go to tap against the smooth glass of your cup. “You just… beat me to it. I was supposed to check on you this morning and get you water. I didn't think you would be awake this early. I thought I had time.” 

Your chest tightens and blooms and flourishes with fondness. It’s a feeling so intense that it leaves you dizzy, your gaze goes distant, your fingers stop thrumming against your cup and your other hand tightens into a fist in your lap. It’s an exercise in restraint, to stop yourself from reaching over and grabbing Dan Heng by the shoulders and shaking him around until you never have to feel this affection again. It’s addictive and beautiful and horrible. 

Your lips part, wanting to say something but all of the vowels and consonants play dissonant keys on your tongue. Instead, you settle for a smile, bashful and fond, fond, fond of Dan Heng and that furrow between his brows when he thinks of what to say, the way he’s staring at your hand against your cup. You want to know what he’s thinking, to let your hand slide across the table, hold his forearm and feel the skin and the life underneath, have him do the same to you. The cancer of all worlds sits in your chest, but you hope he finds it to be kind and gentle, you hope he tames it into something good. 

“Dan Heng,” you start, letting that sick sick affection seep into your voice like rainwater into the cracks of pavement, and you can’t get enough of the way his name sounds against your teeth. “You’re so stupid. And sweet,” you tell him, trying not to melt into the floor. “I didn't think you’d still try to take care of me in the morning. I assumed that watching me throw up everywhere kind of, um, turned you away.” 

“You didn't throw up everywhere,” he corrects, because he’s stubborn and always tries to debate you on stupid things, “And it wasn’t that bad. It didn't bother me. It was just you. It… came naturally.”

And he can’t bear to look at you. He rips his eyes away from yours and you can see the way his face warms up, visibly red and blotchy on his cheeks and neck. Naturally. It comes naturally to him. The care, the hotel mouthwash, checking on you and making sure you laid on your side. He says it came naturally.

You feel sick, and in love, and isn’t that all just the same? The smile doesn’t leave your face, and your cheeks hurt and you fight off the urge to hide your face in your hands and run away like a baby. You’ll face your fears, damnit, even if your fears are just the beautiful man in front of you and the feelings blooming on the right side of your chest, just above your heart. 

“This is me taking care of you, then,” you tell him, trying to get across some semblance of warmth in your tone, trying to get him to understand that none of this is a joke to you, it never has been. You feel choked up, words strumming against your vocal chords. Too many to use, never enough time to say anything. A glance to the side confirms that no waiters are coming to take your order, but the laminated menu in your hands became obsolete the moment you sat down and looked Dan Heng right in his pretty eyes. 

“You never eat breakfast,” you continue, “I don’t think I’ve really seen you relax. You should try knitting.” 

His expression only turns more bashful, if possible. His mouth twists into something displeased, but lightheartedly so. “I tried knitting.” 

“No way.” 

He covers his mouth with his hand, the warmth in his face only building as he struggles to meet your eyes. “It was just for a bit, and I was never good at it. After March joined, she kept making me try the same things as her. Knitting, cooking, sewing… she said that she thought it would help me figure myself out.” 

“Oh my god, Dan Heng. She was so right.” 

Dan Heng makes a discontent noise, something like a mindless murmur of annoyed words, but by the way his lips twitch, you can tell he’s a little bit amused. And so are you, because the image of Dan Heng sitting next to March 7th with a tangle of yarn in his lap is a little too hysterical. 

He has this stupid smile on his face now, and you could almost call it lovesick, the way he keeps looking back at you with his hand still covering half his mouth, like he’s ashamed of the way he’s softening. You like him soft, you like him malleable, warm like this with the window next to you streaming pale yellow light onto the table and the crown of his head. A sick, sick, in-love part of you wants to squish him in your hands like a slime ball and toss him around the room and play catch with yourself. You mean this with love, of course. 

“Dan Heng,” his name, again, falls off your tongue, “I’m not actually that hungry. Can we go back to the parlor car? And I’ll— I can cook you something. Whatever you want.” 

He pauses, and you can see him flitting through potential responses. You’re half-expecting him to make some sarcastic quip, like You shouldn’t be anywhere near a kitchen or Any food that comes from your hands will probably be inedible or You have many skills, and cooking is not one of them. Instead, he looks at you, a contemplative look in his eyes. He’s thinking, and that’s always a dangerous thing. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers, finally looking at you, finally holding your gaze with the same warmth spreading through your palms. You want— you need— you’re craving nothing more than your hands on his and his mouth against yours. He’d be an awful kisser, you’re sure, awkward and clumsy, but you’d be just the same. 

“Can I—” you start, cutting yourself off but letting your awful lack of self-control take over. “Can I kiss you? Do you want that?” 

And he’s too lovely, too stupid and funny and his face hasn’t cooled down for a moment and the sides of his neck are still flushed red. “Not here,” he tells you earnestly, and you see his hand twitch just a little bit against his face. “Once we get back, you— you can do that.” 

It’s a promise, and Dan Heng is starting to get good at those.

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

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all the wrongs (make a right)

when you ask them to set you up with someone else.

or at least, that's what they interpreted it as.

wanderer, wriothesley, diluc ♡ gn!reader

warnings: diluc may be ooc (but he's funny), yapping

notes: WRIOTHESLEY... THE MAN U ARE...

you like someone else.

wanderer doesn't know how to deal with that fact—because of course you do. why would you ever love someone like him, anyway? who is he to even consider love, when he has none of it to give?

when he was created, love built him fiber by fiber. love constructed his eyes, love blessed him with sight and touch, love allowed him to perceive. because in this world, perception is the basis of love, and when wanderer was allowed to perceive, he was allowed to love.

he had love. lots of it, even. there was so much love in his being that it spilled from his eyes, dancing across the oasis of his irises and manifesting into stars. when the wanderer was created, he was ready to be loved, he was ready to love.

and then he was discarded—with all his love—because he was not enough.

(he wonders what it would take for him to be kept. for someone to cherish him despite his artificial limbs, his heartless chest.)

(he wonders what it would be like if he were cherished, even for just a little bit, by you.)

from across the lecture hall, wanderer stares at your figure. his eyes, which once manifested stars and dripped with love, trace over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. wanderer stares at you, basking in the mundane, romanticizing the ordinary because for some reason, under the lights, you look ethereal.

(he would rather die than admit that outloud.)

he stares and stares, oblivious to the fact that stars have reappeared, that they begin to scatter across his irises like a mosaic of love. because the wanderer is unlike himself when it comes to you—he's enamored, he's taken, he's smitten.

when you blink, his chest throbs, and the nothingness in between his ribs becomes something—something akin to a heart, maybe—because you turn nothingness into everything, and all of a sudden wanderer feels a buzz in his chest. if he stares at you long enough, the buzz begins to sound like this: thump-thump, thump-thump.

suddenly, you turn to look at him.

his breath hitches.

you smile, and his heart aches.

then you look away. as if none of it mattered to you, as if your smile were a simple little thing, as if your eyes and your attention were meaningless.

but none of it is ever meaningless, because when he's in your presence, and when he has just a mere wisp of your existence, the wanderer breathes. he does not need to breathe (like humans do)—but when you look at him, your gaze sweeping over him like a golden light, he becomes human.

his humanity manifests in the form of a stolen breath, stagnating in his synthetic lungs in order to catch you for just a second. to adore you, within him, for but a moment.

when you meet up with him after class, wanderer feels his stomach churn (like humans feel). he feels something crawl up his throat—disgust, probably—when you look at him with those oh-so pretty eyes of yours, and when you talk to him with that oh-so pretty voice of yours.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"sorry to make you do this, wanderer!" you exclaim, bashful. "you really don't have to help me talk to him! just let me know if you don't want to, okay?"

earlier, you had asked him to help set you up with some nobody. something along the lines of, "i need my thesis project approved" or whatever, but wanderer knows mortals.

he knows that they have ulterior motives in everything they do, and the way your gaze averted from his and the way you fiddled nervously with your fingers when asking him for help was enough for him to deduce: you liked the person you were meeting up with.

"i mean—" you suddenly add, trying to fill in the awkward silence that's caused by wanderer's frustration, "he's a really scary guy, so i get it!"

"hah," he replies bitterly. "scary? yeah, right."

because what could be scarier than him? a puppet whose previous incarnations committed deeds of mass destruction, a puppet whose previous incarnations still exist with him in the present.

wanderer's past incarnations come in the form of hatred, and hatred festers all across his bones and makes its way onto his expression as he stares at you with longing. because wanderer wants you—and what would it take for you to want him back? what would he have to do, to have a mere fraction of your existence?

(but the hatred within his being grows larger. it takes over his ribs and his skin, because wanderer is a disgusting product of his previous incarnations, and his previous incarnations would never be satisfied with a mere fraction of you. his previous incarnations—and him—want all of you.)

"he really is, though! everyone in the akademiya fears him 'cause he always rejects their thesis projects—i mean, i'm scared too, but if you're there then maybe it won't be so bad!" you explain, waving your hands around for emphasis. the wanderer latches onto the fact that you need him there, that you want him to be there for the sake of comfort.

he thinks bitterly to himself: you're the only one who'd find comfort in me. and there you go again, your attention leaping beyond him, traveling towards greater heights that he will never, ever be able to catch up with. because one thing about mortals is that they are fickle, they are fleeting and they are dangerous, not to him—never him—but to each other.

one thing about mortals is that, in the face of love, they will do anything. they will look back for a brief second and lose it all, just for a glimpse of what could've been. one thing about mortals is that they'll do anything, everything for the person they love, all because it makes them happy.

as he trails after you, observing the back of your head with all the bitterness he can muster—none, when it comes to you—wanderer sighs.

(what has he been reduced to?)

you lead him towards a large door, and wanderer's chest stutters. he realizes that you're headed straight towards the grand sage's office, where many akademiya students loathe to be. but there are some outliers who want to enter that office, who want to exist inside of it because of the sage himself.

(something along the lines of the grand sage being attractive or whatnot. wanderer doesn't know, and frankly, he doesn't care. unless it comes to you, of course.)

what was his name again? wanderer thinks. but he doesn't have time to mull over the details because he just can't let you go there—wanderer doesn't want you to leave him behind those grand oak doors, left to exist with himself when you're just across from him.

he's always been star-far from you, perpetually longing to reach out and catch even a wisp of your light. and now that opportunity irrevocably close.

wanderer is going to seize a star; he's going to grasp your radiating atmosphere, let himself get pulled in by your gravity, and he's going to rest there forever and ever.

his hand reaches for your wrist, stopping you just before you reach the doors of doom.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"don't go," wanderer states. although his tone is stern, there's an unmistakable softness to his voice, his fingers clasped around yours as if he's afraid you'll be whisked away by the world, leaving him alone and betraying him once again.

"but my thesis project—"

"don't go," he repeats, "stay here." with me, his mind adds.

something crawls up his throat, his gaze suddenly averting yours as his free hand comes to tilt his hat down, masking his expression with its golden rim.

he holds his breath.

"alright," you respond. "is everything okay, wanderer?"

he doesn't respond. he tugs at your arm and pulls you close to him—so, so close—and chooses to exist in the silence. with you.

after a couple minutes, you hear wanderer mutter quietly to himself: "who even needs a thesis project?"

"uh, everyone who wants to graduate," you reply. wanderer rolls his eyes.

"who would even want to graduate?"

"me?" you respond, confused. wanderer looks away.

"whatever."

"eventually, i have to talk to him anyway—" you start, but wanderer quickly cuts you off.

"no, you don't."

"what?"

"nevermind. you wouldn't get it."

(what has he been reduced to?)

(a human.)

"what?" wriothesley says, almost incredulously. ''you want to know what clorinde's favorite flower is?"

"yeah," you reply. "i'm thinking of mailing it to her soon because i'll be too busy in the underworld to go out."

wriothesley briefly considers dispatching you on a deep sea expedition before realizing that if you're far from clorinde—underground—then you'll also be far from him, and he's not sure if he can handle that.

"well, you know, i don't really know her all that well..." he trails off, lacing his fingers together professionally. "it's a shame, really. maybe you can give her something else?"

"oh, like a box of chocolates?"

he blinks, his mind venturing to the worst scenarios. are you confessing to her? are you trying to court her? what's with all these romantic gifts?

it's unmistakable, the way his heart aches and squirms within his ribs. it's unmistakable, the way he feels something sutter one-too-many times within his chest, the tempo of his heart becoming slower and slower when, in your presence, it typically races.

but wriothesley swallows his envy and opts to relish under your gaze, feigning ignorance to the way his heart constricts a little, his ribs beginning to close in on themselves.

"well, clorinde is fond of anything that comes from your heart," wriothesley says, trying to ease the strain of his voice. "so anything you give her will definitely convey your feelings for her."

you chuckle to yourself, amused at the thought. "yeah, my feelings."

wriothesley doesn't quite know how to explain it, but the way you speak of your feelings for clorinde makes him want to give into the world and forget everything. because your expression is so lighthearted, so cheery, it makes him hate himself for wishing that it belonged to him. for wishing that you would ever, could ever, feel about him the same way you feel about clorinde.

he's selfish. too selfish. and maybe that's why you don't like him, and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve you, not now and not ever.

damn this heart of his.

"so, how long have you been planning this for?" wriothesley asks, forcing his signature grin. but the way his lips twitch a little, and the way his leg bounces up and down gives away everything.

you like someone else. for how long? wriothesley wonders, chuckling bitterly to himself. for how long have you liked clorinde?

how long has he spent, pining helplessly after you, only to realize that it was never going to work out? how could he even begin to perceive the thought of loving you, to even contemplate a time beyond what you've already given him?

he's such a fool.

"a couple of months," you say, fiddling with your fingers. wriothesley's such a fool, because the way he notices your tiny habits and the way he ogles at your embarrassed expression makes him want to continue falling hopelessly in love with you. even though you like someone else. even though you're discussing "someone else" right in front of him—he wants to love you anyway.

because that's just the kind of lovesick, hopeless fool he is.

"oh? a long time, huh?" he replies, hoping you don't notice the way he struggles to speak, the way words fail to leave his mouth the way he should.

wriothesley loves you—but no, love is not enough. he loves you the same way the birds love the sky, reaching into the limitless void, yearning and wanting. he loves you the same way tide loves the shore, ebbing and flowing, wishing for more.

wriothesley loves you in unimaginable ways, but they are not so galactic or as grand as the stars, because the love he has is rooted here on teyvat, within reach, and most fervently, within himself.

"yeah. i've been needing to apologize to her for a while now, actually," you explain, averting your eyes from his. "'cause a while back, i accidentally dropped a whole cake on her. it was a mess. literally and metaphorically."

"what?" wriothesley blinks.

"huh?" you tilt your head.

"apologize? so those gifts are for an apology?"

"yeah," you state, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"oh."

the grin he wears is no longer forced, and when you exit his office, wriothesley buries his face into his hands, unable to contain his smile.

so i have a chance, is all he thinks.

angel's tavern is unusually quiet today.

"is kaeya single?" you suddenly ask.

the glass in diluc's hand nearly shatters, his gaze focused wholly on you as his jaw clenches.

angel's tavern is unusually tense today.

"what?"

you smile awkwardly. "is kaeya single?"

"i heard you the first time."

silence ensues.

"so is he single?"

he looks away.

"i'm not sure."

diluc wonders where it all went wrong; since when were you interested in kaeya, of all people? he doesn't know what's worse: the fact that you don't like him, or the fact that you'd like kaeya over him.

he decides to ignore the way his heart constricts a little, suffocating in between the ribs that are supposed to protect it. but even when his heart gets pierced, skewered onto his bones, he feels warm. so, so warm.

he looks at you.

"you like him?"

"he's okay," you respond nonchalantly, swirling your glass of water as if it were a decadent wine. "i don't know him all that well."

"and you still want to know if he's single?"

"we all start from somewhere."

well, you're starting from the wrong brother, is all diluc thinks.

"huh," he says unenthusiastically, "so you like unreliable men?"

"what?"

"nothing."

diluc doesn't know what to make of himself—he doesn't know where to look or what to do. should he keep polishing this wine glass, or should he confront you right now and tell you about how he's loved you for so, so long?

should he tell you about how he's willing to do anything for you, how he returned to mondstadt all those years ago with only you in mind? should he tell you about how he was ready to leave this life as a ragnvindr behind, to travel teyvat and never look back, but he was more faithful to you than he could've ever imagined? he remembered you, so fervently, that he returned. he returned and he stayed.

there's no point, diluc tells himself. i will wait. he's waited and wanted you for so long, he can withstand this newfound infatuation you have. so what if you like kaeya now? diluc latches onto a slip of hope, a minute chance that maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that it's been him all along.

he's always been here. waiting. (for you.)

you glance at him, your irises enveloping him in a tender embrace, and diluc wonders what it'd be like if you were in love. with him. he wonders how much lovelier that look would be, how warm it'd make him feel, if your pupils would dilate a little, if your expression would soften and your lips would curl into a smile when you did so much as recognize him.

would you notice him then? would you be able to discern the look in his eyes—that look of love—if you felt that way too? would you be able to tell that your existence is sown into his skin, growing and blossoming like a wildflower, persisting 'till the ends of time itself?

your existence blooms all across his being until there is nothing left of him, and everything left of you.

"what do you like about him?" diluc asks, trying to ignore the way his chest throbs. he readjusts his collar, feeling strangely stuffy.

"well, he's attractive. but i don't like him like that."

diluc steals a glance at his reflection in the wine glass. people usually tell him that he's attractive. more than kaeya, though? they haven't specified.

"beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder," he affirms.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"anyway,"—diluc feigns ignorance to your flabbergasted expression—"i wish you luck on your endeavors." he crosses his fingers.

"thanks?"

"and if anything ever happens, i will be here." as i've always been, he thinks.

"right."

"and if he does anything weird, say 'ragnvindr' three times."

"what?"

there's no trace of mirth in diluc's expression, and everything he's stated thus far has been said with a straight face. you shiver a little.

"we are also closing, by the way."

"i thought you guys were open all hours of the day—"

"nope. goodbye, dear customer." diluc pauses a little when saying "dear," for he relishes in the sound, wondering when he'll be able to drop the "customer" part and call you only that. only "dear" and nothing else—with no strings attached, except for a red knot around both of your pinkies.

he cringes at the cheesy thoughts he's having.

"uh, diluc?" you call, getting ushered out of the tavern by his glare alone. "you do realize i'm not trying to get with kaeya, right? i feel like you're misunderstanding things."

"what?" this time, it's diluc's turn to be flabbergasted.

"i'm just asking for a friend. you know donna?"

he wonders if it's possible to disappear off the face of teyvat (again).

(but even then, he'd return to mondstadt for the sake of being with you. for the sake of existing in your presence.)

(because that's just the kind of man diluc is. the kind of man he becomes at the mere thought of you.)

"oh," is all he says.

"did you think i was interested in kaeya?"

"angel's share is open all twenty-four hours of the day," diluc states, ignoring your question.

Hide your tears, little peacock.

the sun told me so

dan heng + march 7th x reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: It must be something in the heat. Your head swirls with feelings and temperatures and the rush of ocean water pushing and pulling against your feet is giving you vertigo. Or maybe it’s the looks that March and Dan Heng are giving you. 

content: beach day, unrequited feelings, a little bittersweet, mostly just sweet though, crushes, developing relationships, dan heng is a closed door and march is an open book, vague love triangle maybe

notes: hi guys i started playing honkai star rail and my brain is ROTTING and i love dan heng but i also love march and this was supposed to take a different plot but then i was like no i LOVE march and so it became this… no i don’t know how to characterize either of them (i never know how to characterize anyone ever) but i hope this is GOOD okay love u all bye bye 

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“Dan Heng,” you say. “The beach.” 

It’s simple enough. Just a statement, with an underlying pleading tone as you stand in front of him. There’s a good gap between you both. A safety buffer. An airbag of comfort as you shift your weight from side to side and shuffle your feet. March is somewhere behind you, shoving miscellaneous beach items in an oversized tote bag and humming to herself, unaware of the staredown you’re having with Dan Heng. 

It’s a very one-sided staredown. You’re trying to dig into his soul through his corneas and he’s looking in every direction except yours. You sigh. Obviously, you have some very one-sided feelings between you both, as well. 

“I have work,” he finally says. “I need to organize the archives.” Which is probably a lie. Sure, you barely know how the archives work or where everything comes from, but you really doubt that whatever new entries Dan Heng has are so urgent that he can’t go to the beach with you and March. 

It’s always like this. Excuse and excuse. You know you should stop trying by now. 

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