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ashss2020 · 4 years

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kaeya & diluc, winter

It’s a rare winter that snow hits in the city of Mondstadt, but tonight the chill feels unnaturally alive and biting, frost painting window panes solid and icicles dangling like weary yawns from the roofs of familiar street shops.

As it always is, the Angel’s Share is a place of warmth within the city, an easy gathering point for the familiar trills of laughter and music that Mondstadt is known for, soft glow from the lanterns lit like a heartbeat between stone cold ribs.

It’s not a surprise that he feels comfortable here-- the tavern’s owner goes out of his way to make it so for all patrons, after all, even if he would not be so quick to admit it-- tucked away in a corner nursing a drink that is always a little more than halfway empty, so long as anyone is around to make note of it. But maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s something in the air-- tonight feels special, and it makes Kaeya sentimental in a way that grinds between his teeth, uneasy. He’s taken years to place gears in his smile, knows how to make his expression turn slick and sweet in an instant on command, but tonight is a night for remembering.

Cold does that to people, he thinks. Makes them feel vulnerable, makes them look inwards. Inside Kaeya, there is nothing but memories to keep him warm, low, life-like beats from a life long past.

He slumps a chin against his hand, posture going comically slack against the barhold. It’s getting late and even the usuals are headed home, nothing but the promise of a biting chill outdoors from the window panes, a soft, sad song the bard has been configuring for weeks now, and the way Diluc still won’t look him in the eye, even after all these years.

“Another?” Kaeya asks, though it’s hardly a question. His fingers find the rim of his glass, the last sip of the browning liquor slipping uneasily inside with the movement. Silence follows, as always, but he plays the part, a charade with two and a half roles. “Yes, I think so. Bartender, if you would?”

Diluc takes his time, finishing off shining the glass he’s working on before he turns to take Kaeya’s glass, before he goes to fill it.

It’s not a new scene-- Diluc, stone faced as he has been since they were teenagers--

(“It’s like I don’t even know you at all! Did I ever?”)

Kaeya, playful fabrication to shield an equally damaged interior.

But there’s something about tonight.

“Last call.” Diluc says, loud enough that it cuts through the place, rousing drunks slumped over into wooden tables. It’s not for Kaeya, and so he continues in silence, itching fingers absentmindedly reaching for the browning-gold coin he always carries with him, thumb slipping easily over the well-worn grooves of it.

Tonight, it’s far too easy for Kaeya to reach into himself, to remember-- the cold, it does that to people-- to find their father’s easy voice at the touch of the coin.

At first, it’d seemed like a slight-- a single piece of gold from the richest man in the city, a reminder of what Kaeya could truly never be-- but then he’d laughed, warm, taken Kaeya’s hands around it.

“I don’t understand. How is this supposed to help me know what the right thing to do is?”

At the time, it’d been something small, something menial-- a spat between children, Diluc’s cheeks going red as his hair before he stormed off, Kaeya scowling after him. Kayea can hardly remember the details of it now, but the sentiment remains.

“I think you already know what the right thing is, Kaeya. But until you figure it out, why don’t you flip for it? Heads or tails.”

“What if I don’t like the result?”

“Life is full of different pathways, but most of them lead to the same goal, in the end. Here, give it a try. Like this--”

Kaeya flips the coin in the air, practiced, doesn’t bother to check how it lands.

Diluc slides the drink towards him on the bar, and goes back to his business behind it-- washing glasses, counting receipts.

As the bar empties out to the final few patrons, Kaeya downs the rest of his drink, a burn of a thing to keep him warm enough to make it back to the headquarters. Jean will surely be awake when he gets there, as she always is, smell the booze on him and wrinkle her nose, cart him off to bed, routine. As he stands, Kaeya wobbles out of his chair, but it’s practiced, artful.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose. Always good talking with such a receptive partner.” Kaeya slips his furs back over his arms, and turns to leave.

He’d have missed it if tonight wasn’t so cold, didn’t make him itch, didn’t get caught in his teeth, didn’t make him remember. But tonight is cold, and so he hears, soft as a whistle from the wind behind his back: “Happy birthday.”

It’s enough to startle his features uncharacteristically, to pull something real over his face in an instant. He’d almost forgotten-- he had forgotten, too awash with everything else going on.

After a beat to pull himself together, Kaeya reaches for the coin in his pocket, slips his thumb over the grooves, and flips it. So many things he wants to say-- so many things that he should say-- I’m sorry, I see that you’re hurting, talk to me-- he’d ask, if he could, in this space where there is light and laughter and something akin to the peace of a life lost, what’s the right thing?

He lets the coin decide.

When it lands-- tails-- Kaeya laughs at the irony, something bitter and short, full of edges. Better luck next year.

He whistles as he goes, pulls the door open to the brute chill of the wind.

“And many more.”

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