jikan_rpg | ✵ [Jan Catchall] Hope is not pretending that troubles don't exist.

[ The air between them suddenly feels charged, oppressive, not with the promise of a looming battle but with something he can't quite place. It's not so much terrifying as it is unnerving, pulling a sense of restless unease out of him that he isn't sure how to deal with at first.

Is he uncomfortable? Is that what it is? He's not so sure.

Fighting with Diluc would have been far less complicated than whatever this is going on between them. Childe isn't sure what he himself wants, isn't sure if he wants to pursue this to anything more than what it already is, if he isn't so sure he wouldn't enjoy simply never seeing the other again. There'd been a bond between them - he'd felt it break as well as Diluc had, after all - but why?

It's much too complex for his liking. If he knew at all how to shatter bonds himself he would probably suggest it so they could be rid of each other and go back to other, less complicated things. ]

It almost feels like you wanted me to.

[ To the rest of what he says, though, Childe offers nothing in response. He's not so distracted that he doesn't catch the way that Diluc refers to them as if they were a separate entity, but he's not sure how to feel about it.

There's another slow, creeping roll of thunder overhead. His attention instantly piqued, Childe glances over to the door they'd entered just in time for it to open with the arrival of another guest. From his vantage point he can see the flash of lightning and he imagines he can smell the ozone in the air, the impending signs of an oncoming storm. ]

I should probably go.

No.

[Maybe things would have been easier, simpler, if they had just hated one another with equal ferocity. Maybe he would have preferred that over the complicated tangle that they had ended up with. Even if Diluc had wanted to he has seen Childe vulnerable too many times to hate him, and has seen sides of him that - although he struggles to admit it - he could come to like.

It would have been easier if Childe hated him, but Diluc can't say that it would have been something that he would have wanted. Something he would have expected, accepted, yes. But wanted? Diluc isn't the kind of person to actively want to be hated. His level of bitterness over his past doesn't cut him quite that deeply.

He glances at the door when Childe does, but doesn't keep his attention there for long. The other man's words draw him back, and he finds himself struck by a thought that's almost amusing in its absurdity.

It's pure, unbridled impulse that has him reaching one hand over the table, placing it on top of Childe's and shifting the side of his thumb just a little against the soft patch between his thumb and forefinger. His other forearm takes his weight against the edge of the table, just slightly.]

You're beginning to make a bad habit of walking away from me, Childe. [And he does wonder why, when he couldn't seem to get rid of him before.] Is there something about me that you've started to find unsettling?

[ Of all the things Diluc could have said or done in the moment, Childe hadn't been expecting that.

The hand over his is bad enough, layering his skin with a warmth that bleeds into his bones, sending an unnatural, unwarranted thrill racing along his spine. The expression that takes over his face is much different than the usual self-assured look he wears, the widening of his eyes and the uncertainty suddenly flooding their depths making him look the furthest from one of the Tsaritsa's ruthless Harbingers.

It's in this moment that he looks very much like the man that he should have been, without the need for chaos and his persistent drive for power that were staples of his personality.

Even more incriminating is the flush that suddenly suffuses under his skin, a redness blooming just under his cheeks and bleeding over to the tips of his ears. When Diluc shifts his thumb against his skin, Childe gives a full body jerk with a noise that comes out as a mixture of a gasp and something strained.

It's all the prompting he needs to snatch his hand away and stand up, kicking his chair back perhaps a little too hard and sending it back loud enough to draw attention to the rough scraping of wood on wood.

If he's intending to leave, he doesn't - not yet. Instead, he's just gaping at the other man, the expression on his face equal parts lost and confused and with the blush deepening to almost-permanence on his face. ]

[There's a lot about Childe's reaction to that small gesture that comes as an unexpected surprise. His expression is like nothing Diluc has ever seen him wear, the uncertainty stripping him back to something that the Mondstadt man does not know and yet somehow still recognises. It's the blush, though, that he notices all the more as red flushes across the young Harbinger's face and while Diluc was very much aware that his action would produce a response he didn't think that it would be such a strong one.

The sound of the chair scraping back makes him jump more than anything else. A few patrons glance their way, but quickly go back to their own drinks.

Diluc does not move. He says nothing at first, either. He only draws his hand back across the table and clasps the both of them in front of him, lifting him up to prop his chin lightly against his intertwined fingers.]

Will you sit back down? [Funny, how he doesn't speak as if he's aware of having the upper hand. Diluc's voice stays soft and level, almost gentle if such a thing could ever be applied to his interactions with Childe, and he nods his head slightly to the chair.]

Please.

[ It's almost a crime how long the staff member is taking to return with Diluc's tea, but he imagines he wouldn't notice if he weren't currently fighting for his life in the middle of a restaurant.

It strikes him that if they'd met in Teyvat their relationship might not be so complicated. Childe's loyalties lay where they lay and there wouldn't have been any outside forces at work conspiring against them to bring them together time and time again. It's almost infuriating, really, and is just one more reason for him to miss home.

He thinks he can still feel the warmth of Diluc's hand over his own, bleeding heat into his skin and just the thought of callused fingers brushing over his own makes shivers race up and down his spine again, his body reacting in the only way it knows how after being in a place that indulged him heavily in sensation.

It would be easy to turn and leave. To let Diluc have his tea, his space, his thoughts, but it feels like too much like a cowardly retreat to sit well with him and it's that more than anything that ultimately has him sitting back down.

Interesting enough, the redness on his ears hasn't faded. ]

[If they were still in Teyvat would they have ever met at all? Childe had his own work, his own path, and Diluc had his. No doubt they would simply remain peripherally aware of one another and never truly cross paths in person. And wouldn't that have been far easier? Of course, but Nippon does not seem inclined towards letting things happen easily.

Despite his cool demeanour Diluc can feel his heart racing, thudding in his chest in response to the reaction that simple touch to the hand had provoked in Childe. He doesn't want that, but it happens regardless.

He doesn't really expect that the other man will sit down and when he does the moment of surprises flashes across his expression quite clearly. It's within moments that the tea arrives - perhaps the person who was bringing it had felt that weight in the air and thought it best to see how the scene played out. Diluc never brought other people in here with him after all.

Diluc adjusts the cup, using it as a momentary distraction to gather his thoughts.]

That was impudent of me. Please accept my apologies.

[ There are a number of things he can say to that, he knows. It's not as if it'd been accidental - even if it had, he imagines the brush of Diluc's thumb over his hand hadn't been, the gesture far too intimate and familiar to be anything but purposeful - and he finds himself fighting an internal war with himself over whether or not he should try and fight fire with fire.

It doesn't help he knows little about what sets Diluc off in that way, something he's going to have to rectify in the very near future. ]

I didn't know you resorted to dirty tricks. Clearly I've underestimated you.

[ It lacks the venom that it would usually be delivered in, which is remarkable by itself; Diluc had apparently thrown him off more than he's used to. The tea smells nice, at least, and Childe takes a moment to appreciate the aroma and the scent of the brew along with the steam rising just out of the cup. ]

I hope you understand when I say I'll have to ask you not to do it again.

An often deadly mistake. You should be thankful I didn't press my advantage.

[His voice stays light as he replies. It's almost the same tone he used when they had been under the influence of those strange deer in Nara. He can tell without needing to pry that he had shaken the other man more than either of them had thought he would, and for now he takes a very simple satisfaction in that fact.]

Consider it our secret. [Not really an answer or promise either way, but all he seems inclined to give before he picks up his tea and takes a small, careful sip of the scalding liquid.]

I don't think I've given you reason to think I can't be trusted before now.

[ He's not sure how to take it, this sort of light, witty banter between them where it feels like Diluc's the only one coming out on top. It only adds another element to the weirdly charged energy between them, but to his credit Diluc doesn't lord his apparent advantage over him and even apologizes for touching him like that.

Childe won't admit that he didn't actually mind it, but he doubts Diluc sees him in that light and he's not going to go chasing after someone that isn't interested. Their relationship is weird enough. ]

You haven't. [ He reaffirms, after a pregnant pause. The tension in his shoulders leaves his body in a soft, airy sigh, and he takes another look around the cafe as the next rumble of thunder overhead heralds the oncoming approach of another storm. ]

It's going to rain soon. Think the trains'll go down again?

[Diluc keeps his eyes closed for several long seconds, the rim of the cup resting lightly against his lower lip. He keeps his eyes closed and feels everything else. The tea is herbal touched with orange and tingles at the back of his nose as he breathes it in. The room is warm and comfortable. The soft hum of chatter around them is broken only by Childe speaking to him and the low rumbles of an unsettled sky outside the door.

The redhead sighs, slow and soft, and opens his eyes again to look across at the other man.

This relationship between them is strange. It's been strange from the very beginning, when even though he had a prime opportunity to do so Diluc had refused to kill him through... what, some misguided sense of decency and honour, as if that kind of thing really mattered when dealing with somebody who he didn't think would offer him the same respect in return?

Over time he had come to know Childe as more of an individual person in spite of his desire to not know him at all. They were pushed together in ways that would never have occurred in Teyvat, and ways that had nurtured their connection to each other without either of their knowledge. He can still feel the sting of the bond breaking when he thinks about it.

He doesn't hate Childe. He still wants to. Still feels like he ought to. Still blames him, on some level, for everything that had gone wrong in his own life thanks to the interference of the Fatui in his family. Blames him in the same way he would blame any single member of that group and their blind devotion to their leader.

But he doesn't hate Childe.]

I don't know. [He glances at the window beside them, misty with condensation.] There are enough places to stay if they do.

[And they both know of at least one.

Diluc lowers his eyes again and sips his tea, letting the flavour sit on his tongue for a moment before he swallows it.]

When you said that you-- [He cuts himself off. Tilts his head, as if considering.] It was the truth, wasn't it. All of it.

[ It's easy for the rest of the chatter to fall away around them, easy to hone in on Diluc's words and listen to the way every syllable sounds spilling out of his mouth. There's no traces of irritation in his tone, nothing that would suggest he finds his present company abhorrent. Nor is there any friendly, warm notes of familiarity and genuine affection in his voice, and it's then that Childe thinks that maybe he's reading too into things.

Is that an indication that he wants there to be something more? Or is he just looking for something to latch onto, something that would help give him leverage to goad the other into a fight?

Diluc's question hangs in the air, but he doesn't imagine it's much of a question at all. It's obvious the redhead's looking for some kind of validation and Childe, still unsure of where they stand with each other, almost doesn't want to give it to him.

Eventually his response comes on the heels of a soft laugh; he's looking at Diluc, considering his expression, wondering if there's a specific answer the man is looking for. ]

I don't lie. [ Would manipulation, deception, scheming all fall under that same category? If there was a necessity for it, perhaps. But if anything he mostly just withheld information until such time that it needed to be revealed, dodged the subjects with little half-truths that didn't give away everything that needed to be said.

It's a paltry excuse, but maybe Diluc would understand. ]

No matter what you think of me. You just have to know what questions to ask.

['I don't lie', he says, and Diluc manages to resist the urge to reflexively laugh. While it does answer the question he asked, there's a kind of naivety in the response that's almost endearing. Childe seems to see the world in such plain terms and he can absolutely believe that the young man thinks he doesn't lie.

Everyone lies.

Does taking in the indoctrination of the Fatui to such a degree that it becomes a personal mantra and then speaking it as if it truth count as lying? Perhaps. He can hardly call Childe out for dodging subjects and withholding information when he does it too (well, he could, but that would get them nowhere). Even their reasons for doing so are... similar, in a way, Diluc suspects.

He still doesn't like being able to draw similarities between himself and the Harbinger, but he finds himself not rejecting the thought quite as strongly as he had been doing at first.]

We're not so different in that way. [The redhead admits, though he says it so quietly it could be missed. He shifts his cup into one hand and looks at the window beside them, and after a moment of thought he draws a small six-sailed windmill in the condensation with the tip of his finger.] Maybe in more ways than that.

[ Somehow, he's not surprised at the admission. That's just another piece to the puzzle, and something that eases his mind just a little bit more.

Diluc is soon enough preoccupied with his tea and that leaves Childe room to navigate his thoughts. It's slight, but the air between them seems less charged, more tolerable and welcome by far the longer they spend in another's company. Perhaps it's some twisted kind of exposure therapy, or maybe it's the small understandings they seem to be reaching without trying very hard. ]

You didn't seem like the type to lie. Just very careful about the way you speak so as not to give anything away.

[ And it's true enough, especially since Childe can't think of anything he knows about Diluc on a personal level. He has an inkling that the man is fond of sweets from the first time they'd ever dined together, knows that he was an adorable child so very long ago. He also knows that the redhead doesn't like anybody walking behind him, which was something he could also understand. The difference between them, however, was that Childe would take it as an open invitation to fight instead. ]

Does it bother you?

[For all that Childe is feeling in the air between them, Diluc feels strangely placid. There's no sense of anything being tense or charged - after all, either of them could get up and leave any time they wanted to - and it's helping with keeping him feeling relatively comfortable in the situation. Childe knows well enough that if Diluc did not still want to be sitting here, he would not be sitting here. How many times has he watched the redhead's back as he walked away?

His gaze flicks up when the other man speaks again, his eyes steady on Childe's for a moment. Unwavering. Does it bother him?

Rather than answer on impulse, he considers his reply.]

... No.

[Does he like it? No, he doesn't like it, but it isn't something that he would say is bothering him. He tilts his head slightly as he answers and his eyes drop to the table.]

It should, I suppose. But no, it doesn't bother me. [He sighs then, leaning back in his seat. A wry smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.] It's funny, though. It could have been so easy for us to have been friends, if not for... [A small gestures goes to Childe's... general person.]

You know.

[ The expression that crosses his face is at first a little hard to read, calculating and perhaps a little shrewd. It's as if he doesn't expect that Diluc is being honest with him, that he's expecting the redhead to show his other hand and there'll be a metaphorical knife in it. It doesn't come, of course, and the way his gaze shifts is perhaps surprising in how soft and fond it comes across. It's not a look he wears very often, and definitely not with Diluc.

He's imagining how it could have been between them, if not for all this. It's hard; without his conscription into the Fatui he doubts he would have ever left the borders of Snezhnaya. His father's tales of adventure could only do so much for a shy, frightened boy who felt the pressure of living up to his namesake at every turn.

Maybe they'd meet in Mondstadt. Diluc technically owned a winery, didn't he? Childe might have gone into the trade business in an effort to travel and see the world, plying his wares and the benefits of Snezhnayan fire-water to the different cities. Perhaps he'd be intimidated by him, especially if Diluc had the sort of confidence he had now. Childe can only imagine how the Mondstadt man effortlessly commanded a room, ruthlessly broad and unyielding and with the kind of weight that could pin him to the ground of his vinery effortlessly, mouth slotted over his own as the birds chirped in the trees above and drowning him with so much heat --

By the time he realizes what path his thoughts are taking it's already too late, and he jerks himself out of his kizuna-induced daydreaming with a jolt that bangs his leg on the corner of the table and sends pain lancing throughout his knee. It's not exactly subtle. ]

Fuck--

[It says a lot that Diluc even considers how things could have been. Childe has many qualities that a version of Diluc who was unburdened by the weight of his past would have immediately liked. His own confidence would have been present, no doubt, but perhaps less cold. Less shrewd. He had smiled a lot more before his father died and there was a good reason he was still the most eligible bachelor in Mondstadt despite his often icy temperament.

The two of them lapse into silence and Diluc does not find it uncomfortable. He sips his tea, looking through the damp lines he had drawn on the window to the darkening street outside.

Then Childe jumps, bangs his knee on the table and curses, and Diluc flinches and sits bolt upright. His eyes flash in irritation that quickly slides into confusion when he realises that the jolt seems to have come out of nowhere. He keeps hold of his tea. Just in case.]

What?

Nothing, it's nothing!

[ He says it perhaps a little too quickly, a little too suspiciously. The way that he doesn't look at Diluc when he does - meeting his gaze for only a moment before quickly looking away, tips of his ears burning red - probably paints a pretty confusing picture, given that the redhead hadn't been privy to his thoughts.

Focusing on the throbbing in his leg helps to quell his body down considerably, as does listening to the rumble of the thunder beyond the little cafe. It's probably all in his head, but Childe thinks he can still smell the grapes on the vines, hear the birds chirping in the trees casting dappled sunlight over the pair of them. He wonders, idly, if Diluc might feel as firm as he looks - but then he did, didn't he? He'd carried Childe effortlessly, like he weighed nothing, and it would be easy for him to leverage that same strength against -- ]

I need to go. I'm going. [ The chair scrapes against the ground as he gets up, again, and he stoops only to pick up the bucket of shells he'd brought along and hold it strategically over his lap. ]

Thanks for everything, nice talk. I'll see you around, Diluc.

[Diluc is... definitely confused. The puzzled twist of his expression draws out the youthfulness that is so often hidden by stony maturity and as Childe stands up he sets his cup down. This feels different to the times he has tried to leave before. Before, it had always felt like he was trying to goad, somehow, or like the farewell was some kind of flippant dismissal.

This time it feels like he's trying to run... but from what?]

Something I said?

[Fairly confident he had said nothing that would actually bother the man, he doesn't think too hard about it. Instead, when Childe tries to pass him to leave, he catches hold of his wrist with warm fingers and stands up. The combination of actions puts him very close, but with the chair behind him he hardly has the space to move back without scraping the thing across the floor.

The hair on the back of his neck prickles, but he doesn't give ground. His gaze fixes intently on the other man's, the grip on his wrist solid and yet gentle enough to be easily escaped.]

Childe. For reasons I cannot understand, I am trying with you. But you're not making it easy.

[ Diluc is suddenly too close, too quickly, his fingers a hot brand around his wrist and searing into his skin. It's not anywhere near as intense as his mind makes it out to be, probably doesn't even hurt, really, but that in conjunction with everything that's happened between them thus far is enough to make his body throb in anticipation, a blunt ache that practically begs to be sated.

At first he thinks it's just an aftereffect of the kizuna. That maybe this shop, or the weather, even, is having some kind of adverse effect on him. It makes it hard to take in Diluc's words at first, and by the time he realizes that the other might be frustrated with what's happening, he's not really sure how to react.

Because Diluc is trying, for whatever reason. There hasn't been any kind of dismissal, nothing to suggest the redhead wouldn't want his company for longer. ]

Diluc... [ He begins, feeling the stares of people on them. But he doesn't pull his hand away, doesn't move, continues giving him this helpless, wary look - and if it happens to drop down to his lips, gauging the distance between him, maybe Diluc won't quite notice. ]

[He's surprised at himself. Both that he tried to stop Childe from leaving, that he grabbed his arm to do so, and that he is tolerating being this close to him with nothing more than a prickle across the back of his neck. He hears his name spoken, though it sounds oddly distant as he meets that expression on the Harbinger's face with his own eyes slightly widened.

His heart is racing. He realises it all at once when it occurs to him that the thudding pulse in his ears is far too regular a sound to be coming from outside. Childe's eyes dip down - he notices, close as they are - and his bright red ones shift in mimic of the gesture. The other man's skin feels cool under his fingers, a tingling spreading out over his hand and up his arm.

People are watching. He can feel people looking at him - a few openly so, but most attempting to be covert about it. It hardly matters to him. Having eyes on him is not a new experience.

It feels like a minute has passed though it could have only been seconds. Everything pulls together into a split-second, impulsive decision and the thought only briefly flashes across his mind that he's going to regret this before his grip tightens on Childe's wrist and he gives his arm a tug, pulling him in and pressing a warm kiss to his mouth.]

[ Whatever was going to come next, Childe had resolved himself that he would accept it. It's enough, he thinks, that they're civil, that they hadn't come to blows yet - even if a part of him really wanted to - and that, uneventful though it had been, he was enjoying himself. It's enough, he doesn't need anything more than that.

Time seems to stretch on between them. It's likely they'd caught the attention of staff and guest alike, but their refugee status ends up being enough of a boon that no one calls out to them straight away, content on letting them do whatever it is that refugees do.

This close he finds himself taken with how vibrantly red Diluc's eyes are, his hair, and he's reminded of one of their first encounters when he'd compared it to blood over the snow. His opinion hasn't changed in the slightest and he thinks, dimly, if it's Diluc then he doesn't mind.

Too soon there's a tug on his arm, he's shifting forward and then a warm mouth against his. Diluc tastes of the tea that he's been drinking and something else, something so distinctly him it would be hard to mistake it for anyone else. The bucket of shells clatters to the floor, drawing more attention to them and his hand goes to curl against the back of Diluc's neck to drag him in and deepen the kiss. ]

[His mind must have shut off. That's the only way to explain this - why he did this, and why his instincts aren't screaming at him to stop. Even when the bucket clatters to the floor, narrowly missing his foot, he doesn't so much as flinch.

Childe leans in and that should startle him, too. The hand against the back of his neck should startle him, as vulnerable a position as it is. It doesn't. None of it does.

One of Diluc's hands clenches into the fabric at Childe's hip and the other fists into the back of his hair. It's as soft as it's always looked, he realises dimly, and it's that thought rather than anything else that kicks him back into his own head and has him pulling back. He stares with an expression of bewildered confusion settled across his face and his grip on the Harbinger's clothes and hair loosens slightly.]

That-- [His voice cracks. He clears his throat, letting his fingers slip out of Childe's hair and to his shoulder.] We should leave. Now.

[ The noise he makes against Diluc's mouth when he feels the hand fisting against the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging roughly on the strands, is hard to match with the Harbinger himself. It feels like everything is being swallowed up by the other man, like he's stealing the breath from his lungs and replacing it with an oppressive, smothering heat, like he's dragging out all of his honed discipline, his control and replacing it with something wanton and feverish and desirous. His other hand moves to curl into Diluc's shirt in turn, and even he's not sure if he wants to rip it off of him or drag him closer with the hold; either way he imagines it'll get him the same result.

When Diluc pulls away it's instinct to chase after his mouth, gaze opened only halfway and the raw desire in his eyes framed by the dip of his lashes. He's left hungry for more, wanting and needy and --

Fuck. He remembers where he is, remembers where they are, and he has to fight a losing battle with himself not to just shove Diluc on the table and have him until they end up being strong-armed out of the cafe. The redhead's voice cracks and he feels a part of him crack with it, but he's able to pull himself together enough to collect his dropped things and turn on his heel to make for the door.

If his steps happen to be a little quicker than before, that's no one's business but his own. ]

[Diluc's knees feel like they might buckle under him as he steps quickly after the other man, barely remembering to grab his scarf before he does. He ignores the curious stares that follow them, gives a distracted wave to the staff as they watch him leave, and the cool air that hits him when he walks out of the door does absolutely nothing to help the warmth suffusing his entire body.

Shaken out of whatever impulse had brought that action on, the next natural progression of emotions begins to set in. The pit of his stomach clenches as panic knots with confusion and self-loathing and burns a tight sensation in the back of his throat.

Diluc does not kiss people for no reason. He isn't the kind of person to use his body in that way. He doesn't do it for no reason, so why would he--...

They make it a few metres from the door and he's reaching for Childe's arm again, still not understanding why (why, why, why--!) he would want to. There was nothing in the tea, he doesn't use the drugs on offer in Nippon, so this... it must just be him.

Them.

He holds on to Childe's arm so lightly. There's no need for him to be rough for the man to know how strong he is - he already knows.]

I don't-- [Diluc's words stumble over themselves.] You can ignore that-- that that ever happened. If... if--

[ The air outside is blessedly breezy enough that it does wonders to cool the heat under his skin, injects some sense of normalcy back into his racing thoughts and quells the surging tide of desire and want that's making a mess of all his emotions. Even with the lingering presence of Diluc's mouth against his like an echo, Childe still takes a deep, steadying breath in once he's outside and exhales it, slowly, willing his body to calm down so as not to make walking an issue.

He's not entirely sure where they're going, or if they're going together at all. Diluc's presence is heralded by the sound of the door chiming open and closing, and once they make their way comfortably enough away from the shop that they can rule out that it's something in the air making them act this way towards one another, Childe feels the anticipation in his stomach and give way to something softer.

He had said he'd liked him. Apparently he hadn't realized how much.

The Harbinger means to say as much when he feels Diluc's hand on his arm, pulling on it, and he turns to regard the redhead beside him and the look on his face. His gaze wanders over Diluc's features, the expression he wears and he thinks, if the other man wanted to forget then he'd be fine with it. They might have to avoid each other for a long while after this, but that's okay.

It's probably the high of their kiss that has him laughing almost giddily, shaking his head and reaching out to gently press a hand over Diluc's chest. And then over to his shoulder, gripping at his arm in turn and kneading at it reassuringly. ]

I like you, Diluc. [ It's said so openly, honestly, there isn't room left for him to doubt. ] It's okay. It's okay. Whatever you want.

✵ [Jan Catchall] Hope is not pretending that troubles don't exist.

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sticks a bow on this