Chapter Text
"Typically, when one suffers from an assassination attempt, they take a day or two off to recover.”
Jean only briefly glances up at Kaeya as he speaks, the Acting Grand Master once again having buried herself in admin work. So much for Kaeya’s attempt to invite her out for a drink this weekend.
“I’m fine, Kaeya,” Jean insists. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to fight the Fatui, and for some reason, I doubt it will be the last.”
Kaeya bites down the urge to tell Jean that that is not the point he’s trying to make, but he knows that little will change Jean’s mind in regard to this. Her office could be on fire and she would still insist on staying and getting her paperwork signed.
“Any news on how their diplomats plan on spinning this?” Kaeya asks as he moves himself to Jean’s desk and picks up a piece of paper from the top of the largest pile—something about a string of noise complaints by the looks of it.
Jean sighs and sets the document she’d been reading down, “None yet, though the serial break-ins have all but stopped, so at the very least they incriminated themselves with that.”
That sounds like a good thing, Kaeya thinks. Though the preliminary statement released to the public the day of the attack mentioned the Fatui were believed to have been responsible for the break-ins, there wasn’t actually any physical evidence for it. But for whatever reason the Fatui seemed to have ignored that and incriminated themselves. Kaeya isn’t one to question that too deeply. He’s always known not to interrupt an enemy when they’re making a mistake.
“I imagine they’ll use the same excuse they did for the Stormterror Incident,” Jean continues, “and ‘punish the handful of rogue members.’”
Kaeya hums as he picks up a pen and signs the noise complaint before placing it in a pile off to the side. He’ll pass that on to a junior Knight to investigate tomorrow.
“I’m not sure that will hold up. They essentially attempted a coup,” Kaeya says as he picks up the next piece of paper.
And that's not even mentioning the fact that they tried to steal something from the Cathedral vaults. An interrogation with a particularly skittish diplomat revealed that they were after 'the Anemo Archons power', but what exactly that's supposed to be is still unknown. The artifacts the Church owns may be ancient, but none of them are particularly powerful.
Jean is silent for a moment, only interrupted by the soft scratches from pen on paper. “I know,” she finally responds. “I’ve written to Varka to see if he has any advice on this but you know how he is when it comes to responding to letters.”
If Jean sent the message via carrier bird it will be at least a day or two for the message to reach the expedition force, and likely a good week for Varka to actually open the message. He’ll respond quicker than he usually does when he sees the contents of the message no doubt, but that’s still nearly two weeks before they have a reply of any sort.
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Kaeya reassures.
Jean has always been much better at handling these matters than what she gives herself credit for. She’ll be fine, Kaeya is certain.
The lapse into a comfortable silence of sorts, only interrupted by the quiet sound of moving paper. Jean continues reading through the letter in front of her and Kaeya busies himself sorting through the large pile of still to be signed documents. Most of these shouldn’t have even made it to Jean’s desk and Kaeya will make sure to divide these up between some other Knights tomorrow.
“Why are you here?” Jean asks after she finishes signing the sheet of paper in front of her.
“And here I was beginning to think that you enjoyed my company,” Kaeya responds with a smile, despite knowing what Jean really means.
She looks up and sends him an unimpressed look, “This is the first Friday in months that we’ve had some sort of break. You should be enjoying it.”
Kaeya hums, wondering if Jean is aware of the gaping hole in that logic, “I could say the same for you.”
“The difference is that I’m the Acting Grand Master,” she responds with a sigh. “I can enjoy a night off once I get on top of all this paperwork.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
Jean sends him another unimpressed look.
“All I’m saying,” Kaeya continues, “is that Mondstadt won’t fall apart if you leave your desk for more than five minutes.”
Jean sighs again, looking down at the stacks of paperwork lining every inch of her desk. She must know that Kaeya is right, but unfortunately, she doesn't concede.
Instead, she seems to think that now is a great time to change the topic, "I keep meaning to thank you."
Kaeya raises an eyebrow, "For?"
"Working on the missing persons case. If you hadn't, the Fatui might have killed me."
Briefly, Kaeya wonders if Jean is aware of the dangerous precedent she might be setting by not punishing Kaeya for directly going against orders.
"So that means I'm not going to lose my job?" Kaeya says, a laugh at the end of the sentence.
He has to force himself not to think about all the things that could have gone wrong if he had stayed away from the case. He never would have found the hidden cellar under Angel's Share, never would have discovered how to decrypt all Diluc's coded messages, and never would have known to link the serial breaks in with what Diluc was investigating.
Kaeya never would have discovered that the Fatui planned to kill Jean. And if that were the case, he probably would have spent today attending her funeral service.
Kaeya leans back in his chair, twirling the pen in his fingers. He keeps his tone light, but the weight of Jean's gratitude tugs at something deep in his chest. “I don’t know, Jean. Sounds like you’re rewarding insubordination. What would Varka think?”
Jean shakes her head, though there’s a faint smile at the corners of her lips, “I think that Varka understands the difference between insubordination and initiative. But you know I can’t officially condone what you did, even if I’m grateful for it.”
Kaeya studies her for a moment, her expression soft despite the tiredness dragging her eyes down.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for going against your orders,” Kaeya says.
"I know," she says simply, looking up at Kaeya. “Just, trust me to help you next time.”
'Next time'. Because it seems that Jean knows just as well as Kaeya does that there will be a next time. Part of Kaeya is touched that Jean trusts him so much, but the other part is screaming, knowing that trust will only hurt Jean in the future.
"In the meantime," Jean continues, gesturing to the towering pile of paperwork on her desk, "help me work through all of this and I'll consider it punishment enough."
Kaeya groans theatrically, dragging a hand down his face. “Truly, you are a merciless leader.”
“Yet you’re still here,” Jean replies dryly, already moving on to the next document.
Shaking his head, Kaeya picks up a fresh stack of papers and starts sorting through them. The silence stretches between them, filled only with the sound of pens scratching and papers shifting.
After a while, Kaeya glances at Jean out of the corner of his eye. Her posture has relaxed ever so slightly, and the faint crease of tension in her brow seems to have eased. It’s a small thing, but it’s enough to make him feel that he's at least accomplished something tonight.
“You know,” he says after a while, his tone light, “if this is my only punishment, maybe I’ll break the rules more often.”
Jean doesn’t look up, but her voice carries a thread of humour, “Keep talking like that, and I’ll find something worse.”
Kaeya chuckles, but he doesn’t push further because he knows that Jean is probably serious about that.
Kaeya has always been an enigma of sorts. A man full of winsome smiles and vicious deceit. Kaeya seems to be an oxymoron; a walking contradiction. It’s something that had puzzled Albedo for years. And yet, Albedo thinks he is finally starting to understand why Kaeya is the way he is.
In hindsight, Albedo’s failure in this regard had been quite obvious. And, it’s something that makes itself apparent as Kaeya invites himself into the workshop.
“I got permission from Diluc to publish the statement, just as you asked,” Kaeya says in lieu of greeting. “I even managed to get his signature and everything.”
Albedo brings his attention up from the broken alchemical instrument he’s spent the morning trying to fix. He glances over the written statement that Kaeya had shown him yesterday, and just as promised is Master Diluc’s signature signed neatly at the bottom.
“The only thing he asked is that we add a sentence somewhere stating that he doesn’t wish to speak with the press about this whole matter,” Kaeya further clarifies.
Albedo takes the paper and skims it one last time, “Thank you, Kaeya. I appreciate you doing that so quickly.”
Kaeya offers a smile in return, his eye flitting over Albedo’s face in an expression that Albedo now knows to mean that Kaeya is scrutinising every detail. The Cavalry Captain is likely trying to gauge what Albedo is thinking—something he is frighteningly good at—and then analysing everything that he could say in return, and every subsequent conversation that could follow.
Albedo wouldn’t quite call it paranoia, but that certainly feels like a close enough comparison.
The most likely scenario that Kaeya is exploring would be Albedo asking if he and Master Diluc attempted to make amends. It is something that Albedo is curious about, but he’s starting to realise that perhaps that curiosity has gotten too far out of hand.
“Don’t mention it,” Kaeya responds with that signature grin of his. “Oh and before I forget, I got you something. Consider it as thanks for all the hard work you’ve done these past months.”
Albedo can’t help but wonder what exactly Kaeya means by that. Assuming that he’s talking about the now closed missing persons case, Albedo has arguably done very little. Besides the original search when Master Diluc was first believed dead, Kaeya had been the one leading the case. He was the one who first thought to look for clues in the Angel’s Share, and the one to investigate at Stones Gate—regardless of the fact that Jean had explicitly ordered against that. And, while Albedo had been busy trying to remedy the serial break-ins, Kaeya had been the one to not only locate Master Diluc but uncover how the Fatui plot tied into the Winery Master’s disappearance.
In Albedo’s opinion, this investigation had been Kaeya’s in everything but name.
But regardless of that, Albedo accepts Kaeya’s gift with thanks. He may not fully understand why Kaeya thought this to be necessary, but Albedo does know it would be rude not to accept.
The box in itself isn’t particularly special save for a slight shine which hints that the box is new, Albedo notes as he takes it into his hands. He pulls the ribbon away, being cautious not to destroy the delicate lace, and opens the box. Inside is fifteen tubes of paint. They appear unopened, but the labels have faded with age. Despite that, the colours inside the tubes are still obvious—a range of earthy tones, some pastels, and other vibrant hues—and so too is the brand label.
Albedo himself owns two, maybe three, of these types of paints. The quality of these Fontanian paints is some of the best that Albedo has ever had the privilege to work with and their price tag is a direct result of that. Not only are these tubes notoriously difficult to acquire, but each one will cost at least 20,000 mora.
“If you don’t use these types of paints,” Kaeya says, “just let me know and I can find you something that you will use.”
For a brief moment, Albedo panics that his silence may have come across rude. And yet he still can’t help what comes out of his mouth yet, “I can’t possibly accept these as is. I know how expensive these-”
“Don’t worry about that,” Kaeya interrupts. “They belonged to my father and Diluc and I don’t really paint so if you don’t take them they’ll just sit and collect dust. And these are just the ones that Father never had a chance to open. There’s a whole box of half used ones that I can give you if you want.”
Albedo can’t help it as he stutters out a response, but finally he manages to say, “Thank you, Kaeya. This is one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received.”
And Albedo can’t think that it really is. When travelling with his master, gifts weren’t something that they exchanged often. The closest thing that Albedo could consider a gift is when she gave him his first sketch pad. But that hadn’t been for leisure per se, but to help him complete his assignments in a more timely manner. The more that Albedo thinks about it, the first time he can recall receiving a proper gift was when he first joined the Knights.
Grand Master Varka had given him a basket filled with various Mondstadt specialty foods and a bottle of the Dawn Winery’s signature wine, and since then that’s what Albedo has received and given as gifts. Mondstadt’s gifting culture seems to boil down to exchanging bottles of wine and the occasional food. There are more personal exchanges between family and close friends, no doubt, but for the people of Mondstadt, a simple bottle of wine seems to do.
And that’s why Albedo thinks that this exchange with Kaeya is particularly special. Because these aren’t simple craft paints that you can buy at the souvenir shop. In this box alone is at least 300,000 mora worth of paint, and that’s not even accounting for the sentimental value that these must hold.
“Thank you so much,” Albedo says again.
Kaeya offers another smile, “If it means that much then I’m sure it can count as an apology gift too.”
“An apology?” Albedo blinks with confusion. What could Kaeya possibly have to apologise for?
Kaeya’s expression falls slightly, “I understand that I haven’t been the nicest to you these past few months.”
Albedo knows that what Kaeya says is true—he has even been arguably cruel at certain points—but Albedo can’t find it in himself to be upset. Kaeya had no doubt been processing emotions that he had never encountered before. And unlike Albedo who saw feelings as a systematic response to external stimuli, Kaeya saw them as they were: feelings. They made him uncomfortable, angry, grieved, and to avoid how terrible it must have made him feel, Kaeya chose to push those feelings away; to pretend they weren’t there.
And Albedo had come along and tried to pull them right back. In almost every encounter, Albedo had overstepped.
“I have just as much to apologise for,” Albedo doesn’t miss the way that Kaeya’s eye opens a touch wider. “I let my curiosity get the better of me and asked you questions that no doubt made you uncomfortable. I overstepped, and I apologise for that.”
He had been thinking quite a bit about what Kaeya had said yesterday afternoon. That ‘real life isn’t as simple as an experiment.’ It had taken Albedo some time to consolidate that, but he thinks that Kaeya had been correct. Albedo has always approached human life, emotion, and relationships as a complicated web of simple interactions. But he’s starting to wonder if he had been overlooking one crucial factor: humanity.
Humans are, at their core, irrational.
There is realistically no reason to oppose change in the way that humans do. The entire world is a cyclical motion of death and rebirth. Nothing is static. Not the grass on which they stand, the food they eat, even the day’s sunset is not guaranteed. And yet despite that being the only reality they know, humans offer staunch opposition to change.
There is also no rational reason for them to mourn death. Death is as intertwined with reality as life is. Even gods, seemingly immortal to many, will eventually suffer from corrosion and return to the elemental life forms from which they were born. There is no way to avoid it, it will come to all at some point, and yet humans still mourn all the same. That precious energy which could be used to better life, is instead spent on tears and hurt.
There’s no reason for that to be the way that humans react, and yet they do.
When conducting an experiment, Albedo is in control of all the factors. Even when tens of variables are at play, he has a fundamental understanding of how each will interact with the others. And in the cases that he doesn’t have an understanding, he researches so that he does. But in the end, if he conducts experiments with the same method and variables over and over again, he will always achieve the same result. He can’t say the same for humans.
Each one is so unique, their actions so irrational, that Albedo is all but certain that he could use one person, one experiment, and yet achieve a wide range of results.
So perhaps Kaeya had been right in asserting that ‘real life isn’t as simple as an experiment’. And now that Albedo is looking back, he thinks that his limited understanding of that may have been a direct contributor to why he spoke to Kaeya the way he did. He had been curious, but that curiosity had been grounded in an experiment and not reality.
Kaeya lets out a crude laugh in response to Albedo’s apology, “Gods, why is it every time I apologise that someone else does the same to me?” He brings his right hand up to massage the bridge of his nose before clarifying, “That wasn’t directed at you, I promise.”
Albedo chooses to nod and agree, knowing that he has no right to be questioning Kaeya about these things.
“I wanted to tell you that I spoke with Diluc,” Kaeya says after a brief lapse of silence. “And I think things are going to be better between us now.” He takes a breath and smiles—there’s something about it that’s different but Albedo can’t put a name to it, “I couldn’t have done that without you ‘overstepping’. So thank you for that too.”
The shock on his face must be more apparent than Albedo realises, because Kaeya lets out a laugh before continuing, “You don’t have to look at me like that. You know I wouldn’t say something like that if I didn’t mean it.”
Albedo lets out a laugh of his own, “Yes, I know that to be the case.”
Suddenly, it feels as if an invisible pressure has been lifted from his chest. He can’t claim to know where it came from, or even for how long it had been there, but it’s a welcome feeling all the same. And then, all at once, Albedo realises what had been different about Kaeya’s smile.
For the first time, Albedo thinks that he’s looking at one of Kaeya’s genuine smiles. It’s not a front put up to wile the people of Mondstadt, nor is it a faux laidback attitude to lull Treasure Hoarders into a false sense of security. It’s a real smile, rooted in real happiness.
And even if that were the only good thing to have come out of the past few months of pain, then Albedo would call that a success.
One day Albedo may learn the full truth of why exactly Kaeya is the way he is. He might finally understand why the Cavalry Captain keeps the world at arm's length, why deception is his default during times of stress, and what exactly happened for his and Master Diluc’s relationship to fall apart. But today is not that day.
If it ever happens at all, it will be when Kaeya feels comfortable enough to share it, and not as the result of some ‘experiment’.
It hadn’t taken Diluc more than an hour to escape the Sisters at the Cathedral. They had insisted that he stay for another day or two to recover properly, but Diluc knew that if he stayed in the Cathedral for another minute, he probably wouldn't leave it. Not with what he had to face back at the Winery.
Returning to the Winery had been harder than he’d expected. The moment he stepped through the doors, he was met with tears, hugs, and apologies that he knew he didn’t deserve. Adelinde, thankfully, had the foresight to dismiss most of the staff for the week, so the Manor had remained eerily quiet—something that Diluc wasn't entirely sure he wanted.
He’d been nervous about seeing Adelinde and Elzer again, though he’d convinced himself he was being childish. But seeing them again had been harder than he could have expected. Their understanding eyes and warm smiles cut deeper than any cold words could have. He couldn’t help but wonder how they could still look at him with such kindness, after everything that he’s done.
Kaeya had come and gone, staying just long enough for an awkward dinner that neither of them had much appetite for. After that, he’d disappeared again, leaving with vague promises of coming back in the following days. Part of Diluc still isn't sure that he wants him to.
It's such a horrible thing to think. He should be relieved that things between him and Kaeya might be taking a turn for the better. But the longer that Diluc thinks about it, the more he's convinced that it will only be a matter of time before Kaeya realises that there's nothing in Diluc worth forgiving. It won't be long until the two of them return to their normal routine of biting quips and trying to forget about the other's existence.
In the days since Diluc had tried to busy himself around the Winery. He’d gone through the motions—sorting paperwork, reviewing trade agreements, checking ledgers—but the more he worked, the more he realised how little his absence had affected anything. The Winery had carried on without him. And it should. No rational person would be disappointed that their business can carry on in their absence. But it does for some reason. And now it just feels like Diluc's constantly in the way.
Now, he finds himself in the master bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The curtains remain undrawn, allowing only sparse light to filter into the room. Dust coats every surface, a testament to how long the room has gone untouched.
By rights, this room should belong to him. He’s now the head of the Ragnvindr Clan and owner of the Dawn Winery. He should have claimed this room, and yet he hasn't. The room remains untouched, frozen in time as if the years since Father's death haven't passed. Father’s belongings still fill each drawer, and besides an occasional sweep performed by Adelinde, the room remains locked and off limits to most of the Winery staff.
It's been six years since Father's death, and Diluc can count on one hand the amount of times he's stepped in this room. Four, maybe five times at the most.
It's childish. He has no excuse to act this way. But he can never bring himself to move into the master bedroom. Not like this.
Father's belongings are scattered throughout the room, and lingering in every corner. The room smells stale, the scent of dust and old leather-bound books hanging in the air. Gods, what would Father think if he could see him now? It's been six years and Diluc is still holding onto the belongings of a dead man.
Not even 'holding on'. That would imply some semblance of care or attention. No, instead he reserves this room for whenever he's at his lowest low. A sanctuary for whenever the world feels too much to handle, even though stepping through the doorway only seems to drag him lower. Diluc is well aware that all he's doing is trying to root himself in a past life that has no place here in the present.
He should sort through this room. Clear it out. He should dispose of the draft trade agreements that were never finalised, donate the clothing that Diluc will never wear, and wash the old, dusty bed sheets still tucked neatly into the bed. He should sort through everything in this room and move on.
But he won't.
He can't.
Diluc knows he's too much of a coward for that.
The sound of the door creaking open pulls him from his thoughts. He doesn’t lift his head, already recognizing the two pairs of footsteps entering the room. The first is Adelinde, the sharp click of her heels as distinct as ever. He’d always been able to recognise it, even as a child. The second set is heavier, and the way they drag slightly on the floorboards tells Diluc that it's Elzer.
Adelinde moves across the room, and a small part of Diluc is expecting her to scold him for his poor posture. The way he's sitting on the ground, cross-legged and his back slouched as if he's trying to fold in on himself, breaks every rule of discipline and etiquette that Adelinde had spent years drilling into him. But she doesn't say anything. Instead, she moves across the room, drawing open the curtains on each window with a practised grace.
Muted, grey light spills into the room. The weather is still dreary outside with the storm from Dragonspine slowly moving across Mondstadt, so Diluc hardly expected bright sunshine. Still, it's the most natural light that this room has seen in years. Adelinde likely knows that too.
"You should be glad that Moco and Hillie aren't here," Diluc offers softly, his voice barely carrying across the room. "They'd be dying to get in this room."
From what Diluc has heard, the two of them have been trying to get into the 'mysterious room at the end of the hall' for well over a year now. Diluc's not sure why Adelinde never told them it was the Manor's master bedroom, but he'd wager it has something to do with satisfying her own amusement.
Adelinde hums in acknowledgment but doesn't say anything in return. She's been like that for the past week now, always seeming to be unsure what to say.
Diluc doesn’t blame her. If he were her, he wouldn’t even want to speak to himself.
He flicks back through the small, black notebook in his hands. Most pages are blank but weathered, and the last entry is dated to the 30th of April. A single string of words, Looking forward to the banquet tonight, lines the top of the page. It had been one of the last things that Father had ever written. Had he had any clue that he was going to die just hours later?
Elzer pulls a chair from the corner, dragging it across the floor with an audible creak. Diluc winces at the sound, hearing splinters crack beneath its weight as Elzer sits down. A moment later, Adelinde lowers herself to the floor in front of him, her skirts pooling around her as she mirrors his posture.
“Is this an intervention?” Diluc asks, his tone dry. He means it as a joke, but the furrow in Elzer’s brow makes it clear that no one finds it funny.
Adelinde hums again, "Of sorts."
Diluc grimaces. He’s been expecting this. It was only a matter of time before they confronted him, before they demanded answers for everything he’s done over the past few months. They deserve that much.
But when he opens his mouth, all he can manage is a quiet, "I'm sorry."
He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say it enough.
Diluc isn't looking up, but he can hear the way that Adelinde's gaze softens, "We know."
"No, you don't," there's a sharpness in his words that he hadn't meant, but Diluc stands by what he says.
Both Adelinde and Elzer seem so insistent on forgiving him, even though he hurt them both in the cruellest way possible.
“You did what you thought was necessary," Elzer says, his tone like that of when he's trying to placate an unruly business partner. "We could never fault you for that.”
“But you should."
There's silence for a very tense and long moment. The words seem to settle over the room, and Diluc can already tell that Adelinde is trying to find some way to respond.
Finally, she does, "Why are you so insistent that we should hate you?”
Is there a single reason why they shouldn't?
“Because I’ve been horrible to you,” the words are almost a whisper. And then, to further clarify—to show them just how unforgivable he is—Diluc continues, “The day that Father died was the worst day of my life and I never want to feel that way ever again. And yet," Diluc's breath gets caught in his throat, "that’s exactly what I did to you.”
Because that's the real problem here, isn't it? Diluc knows just how horrific it is to have someone you love torn away from you without warning, but he did exactly that to Adelinde and Elzer. And then to make it worse, he didn't even die. He came back as if nothing happened.
At least if he had actually died, then he wouldn't have spent the last few months stringing Adelinde and Elzer along like some cruel puppeteer.
Adelinde exhales softly, the sound filling the heavy silence that lingers after Diluc's words. She leans forward slightly, resting her hands neatly in her lap.
“You’re right,” she says at last. “What you did hurt. It hurt more than you can imagine. But you didn’t do it out of malice, Diluc. You did it because you believed it was the only way.”
Her words strike somewhere deep, and Diluc flinches. All his prior justifications feel so flimsy now. How could he have ever thought leaving the way he did was the right choice? Adelinde doesn't even know why he left—except for the few scattering details she's picked up from Kaeya—and yet she is so confident that he had been right in his actions. That he had actually thought things through enough to know there was no other way.
Not for the first time, Diluc doesn't have the heart to tell Adelinde how wrong she is.
“And you came back,” Elzer adds, his tone steadier, more matter-of-fact. “That has to count for something.”
“Does it?” Diluc mutters, his gaze dropping back to the notebook in his hands.
The worn cover seems to mock him, a reminder of all his Father's expectations, and the legacy that he's since failed to live up to in every regard. He knows that he only really came back because Malik and his informant forced his hand. If those two had kept out of his business, then Diluc would still be in the desert and more than likely have thirst to death by now.
Adelinde reaches out, her fingers brushing against the edge of the notebook. She doesn’t take it from him, doesn’t pry it away, but her touch steadies him nonetheless.
“It counts,” she says quietly, “because we still care about you. Even after everything.”
Diluc swallows hard. He doesn’t deserve this forgiveness, this understanding. Not after the way he’s treated them, the way he’s distanced himself so deliberately. He knew that it was going to be one of them that would find the Masterless Vision. He knew that the letters he left would break their hearts.
He doesn’t look up in answer to Adelinde, but he nods. It’s all he can manage.
Adelinde withdraws her hand and folds it back in her lap. “We won’t press you for answers today,” she continues, her tone softening further. “You can tell us when you're ready."
Briefly, Diluc wonders just how desperate she must be for answers. Is she really going to be so patient?
Elzer rises as the chair creaks beneath him. “Take your time,” he says, smoothing the front of his jacket. “But don’t let it be forever, Diluc. That will only hurt you more.”
Adelinde rises as well, brushing dust from her skirt. She doesn’t say anything more, just offers him a lingering look before she follows Elzer to the door.
A small part of Diluc wishes they would push for answers, but they won't. Both of them are far too kind to do so.
The silence after Adelinde and Elzer leave is deafening. Diluc doesn’t move for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the notebook in his lap. The weight of their words hangs in the air like a storm cloud, pressing down on him with a suffocating heaviness he can’t ignore.
They still care about him, despite everything he's done.
The thought churns in his mind. He knows it’s true—logically, rationally, he knows it. Adelinde’s calm, steady tone and the firmness in Elzer’s voice weren’t feigned. They both meant what they said. They’ve always meant what they’ve said.
And yet, Diluc can't help but convince himself that they don't really understand. They can't. How could they possibly care for someone like him? How much longer until they come to their senses and realise just how cruel of a person Diluc is? He left them behind. He convinced them that he was dead, no matter how short lived that thought was. He hurt them.
And for what? Some flimsy excuse to avoid yet another problem.
Diluc’s grip tightens on the edges of the notebook, his knuckles white. They deserve so much better than him. They always have.
He should have done more. He should have done anything else. Tell the Knights what was happening. Tell Adelinde and Elzer. The Wine Guild. Kaeya. There were so many things he could have done differently, and yet he chose the most extreme option. He should have done better.
He knows it’s not entirely fair to think that. Lives were on the line, and he has no reason to trust that the Knights would handle things with the care required. But fairness doesn’t matter. Excuses don’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he faked a suicide.
And while it may have been fake to him, it was real to everyone else.
He hurt everyone. He failed everyone he loves.
And now, sitting here in this room that still smells faintly of old leather and dust, he feels like he’s failing all over again.
He should get up. He should do something—anything—to prove to himself that he’s not as hopeless as he feels. But his legs feel like lead, his body rooted down on the floor.
His gaze flickers to the open curtains. The grey light filtering in from the stormy sky is pale and muted, but it’s enough to illuminate the outlines of the room in a way he’s not used to. The space feels unfamiliar in the light, the details of the past laid bare in ways that make his chest tighten.
The desk in the corner, where his father once sat hunched over trade agreements and correspondence. The bookshelf, its spines neatly arranged in the meticulous order his father insisted on. The bed, perfectly made, as if waiting for a man who will never return.
Every detail feels like a reminder of everything he’s lost and everything he hasn’t had the courage to confront.
He closes his eyes, his breath shaky. He should clear this room out. He knows that. He should have done it years ago. And yet, every time he thinks about it, his resolve crumbles to dust.
The thought of sorting through his father’s belongings feels unbearable. What would he even do with it all? The clothes? The papers? The books? Every item feels like a thread connecting him to the past, and cutting them feels like losing his father all over again.
Diluc’s thumb traces the edge of the notebook, the worn leather rough against his skin. He opens it again, flipping through the blank, weathered pages to the last entry. His father’s neat, precise handwriting stares back at him.
Looking forward to the banquet tonight.
A single, unassuming sentence. The last thing his father had ever written.
And six years later, Diluc is still clinging to those words. He can still hear his Father's voice in his mind as if his Father were reading the words aloud. Diluc can't seem to let this past go, even though there's a present he should be contending with.
His fingers trace the edge of the notebook again, his touch hesitant. He knows he can't stay here forever. Adelinde is right. Elzer is right. He can’t keep doing this—can’t keep retreating to this room every time the weight of his responsibilities becomes too much.
He can't keep running away.
And yet, the thought of leaving this room behind fills him with a hollow, aching dread.
Swallowing hard, Diluc pushes himself to his feet. The leaded movements of his legs only grow as he approaches Father's desk. He stares at the notebook for a moment longer before placing it gently on the smooth wood. His hand lingers on the worn cover, as if letting go of it now is some small first step.
Diluc’s gaze shifts back to the open curtains, to the storm clouds rolling across the horizon. The grey light feels different now—not brighter, exactly, but softer. More forgiving.
He takes a breath and pulls open the top drawer. He'll sort through it. Dispose of all the draft agreements that have well and truly expired. And then when he's done that he'll tell Adelinde and Elzer everything they deserve to know.
Adelinde and Elzer deserve better than him, so he'll just have to be better.
He knows that the effort alone is far from enough. But it's a start.
And for now, a start will have to do.