Archive of Our Own

Being a harbinger meant moving to different nations, but the little fortified city that is Mondstadt was a first to the eleventh.

It was the most pleasant morning when Tartaglia arrived in the city. He was welcomed with a breeze that carried the scent of wine, a funny little kid who had an odd infatuation with pigeons, and an attractive knight just by the gates of the city. The atmosphere was light and the people were jovial, all smiles and bright music. Mondstadt was tiny and somewhat provincial compared to the bustling of Liyue Harbor and the very advanced city of Snezhnaya. 

Not that it bothered the harbinger. Tartaglia actually liked Mondstadt. In fact, he felt more excited than he's ever been when stationed in other nations. His father often told him stories about his adventures in the city of ballads and wine, how lively the taverns get when evening comes, the general spirit of the people in Mondstadt. 

There was a hop in his step as he trudged through the streets of the city. He paid no mind to the looks the citizens gave him, the giggling women who blushed as he passed by, and the horrored faces of the gossiping pair of Fatui just by the fountain.

“Lord harbinger,” the man sputtered mid-bow. He gives him a heavy pat over his shoulder.

“How diligent of you two to stand in here all day,” Childe sighed, feigning empathy as he shook his head. “Must be tough work, eh?”

The first one to speak was the man to his right. The woman next to him, however, still had her mouth agape.

“My lord, I–I can assure you that we have been doing our tasks well. My name is Mikhail, sir. I am one of the diplomats in charge of foreseeing the Fatui activity in the city.”

“What about you, little lady?” He grinned, unaware of the danger his underlings could see behind his smile. She was most likely older than him, but Tartaglia paid no mind to it.

“Lyudmila, my lord. I...” she paused, bowing her head further, “I am one of the diplomats too. I have done well– my job.” She stuttered with great apprehension it made Tartaglia chuckle.

Since he was in a good mood, he won't stir much trouble and leave them alone after he got what he wanted. One thing about the eleventh is that when his mind is set on something, nothing else mattered until he at least manages to carry it through.

And Tartaglia entered the city with one thing in his mind: wine. 

“Maybe you could tell me where the best tavern is around here,” he mused, squeezing his shoulder a little. “And I'll commend both of your hard work in my report. How's that sound?”

— 

The first three days he spent in Mondstadt went by like an arrow from a bow. He enjoyed every second of his visit so far. The food and wine were delicious, the ladies were heavenly, and the taverns were just as spirited as his father had mentioned. 

He spent the first day warming up to the city by flooding his insides with wine, the second day doing what he was actually stationed to do in the city, and the third battling a literal God in Wolvendom, courtesy of Mikhail's gossiping. Tartaglia remembered entering the field with a bright smile, and exiting it with a limp in his step and an even brighter smile. It was good exercise. Hilichurls never did ease his constant cravings for battle.

However, there was one recurrent issue that seemed to surface everytime, no matter where he was. Be it in Snezhnaya, Fontaine, or Liyue, it always came down to one little problem:

Tartaglia was bored.

And a bored Tartaglia was never a good thing to accommodate within a nation. He gets tired of things quickly due to his exceptional adaptability, and it was in his nature to constantly be on the move. Staying in one place while his fingers yearned to feel the grip of his blades made him feel uneasy, like a scratch he couldn't quite itch.

If alcohol was one thing Childe couldn't live without, the thrill of battle was the other. It sat in his core like a parasite constantly clawing its way out. It took him seven years to manage and contain his undeviating bloodthirst, but whenever he was still, unmoving, it was difficult to hold it in. 

Tartaglia lived for fighting. Even before his delusion, he’s long been poisoned with bloodlust, eternally dissatisfied. He needed to fight, but nothing was available anymore. The knights probably owed him plenty for practically clearing out almost all of the hilichurl camps along the roads of Mondstadt. The Wolvendom God apparently only allowed people to partake in a challenge once a week, and he (regrettably) vowed to the Acting Grand Master not to disturb the infamous dragon that resided just to the northwest of Mondstadt.

And of course, with nothing else to do, he does the stupidest things… like making fun of that one man selling a vial of “holy water” and then proceeding to buy one for himself, trying to offer fishes to those cat people in Springvale and harassing their ears with his petting, and even talking to that lonely Fatui guard in the city’s cathedral.

Which is what he was doing right now.

“Now I’ve got nothing,” he sighed, slouching in his seat, completely oblivious to one of the nun’s disapproving stare. 

“It is quite boring in here, Lord Harbinger...” The young man muttered sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “All I get are dirty looks from the nuns. I–I wonder when I'll be receiving my next orders, sir...”

“Ah, well, unfortunately you're under my colleague's hands. Wouldn't want to tamper with whatever it is she has in mind.” The harbinger yawned and scratched his eye. “All in good time, buddy. Gonna have to tolerate the dirty looks.”

Viktor sighed in return, slouching a little against the pillar before remembering he was talking to a higher-up. “Of course, Lord Harbinger, sir. A few dirty looks is nothing to me—it is my duty after all. And, I suppose I’m lucky the one with the red hair isn't a big believer of the Anemo God...”

“Who?” Childe’s ears practically perked up in interest, which alerts the masked man.

“U-um, the one who is handling Mondstadt's wine business, sir.”

Tartaglia raised a brow. “Why would you be wary of an old man who is running a winery?”

Viktor gulped and took a deep breath. It was a question based on pure curiosity, but an alarming one nonetheless, coming from a harbinger.

“They call him the uncrowned king of Mondstadt, sir. He gives the deadliest looks that it makes me shudder. He's known to feel… revulsion towards the Fatui. Rumor has it that he's able to handle a group of agents with one swing of his weapon,” Viktor rambled on and the other man lets him. He mentioned that no one ever gets to converse with him after all, and Tartaglia can be a considerate man at times. 

“Though no one's been able to witness it. But if it were up to me, I'd say the rumors are false. He wouldn't even come close to your capabilities, my lord.”

Childe stood up with such haste that it made the chair slide backwards with a creak, echoing through the walls of the church. The man practically flinched in his position, wary of finally crossing the line with his babbling, but the smile on Tartaglia’s face threw him off.

“I wholly trust your judgement, Viktor. I'll make sure to put a good word in about you in my report.” He gave a nod, and the masked man lit up with glee.

“Now, one last thing. Where can I find this man?”

—

The owner of the winery was not an old man, Tartaglia soon discovered as he successfully "ran" into him just outside the walls of the city.

It was definitely him. The unmistakable shade of red as Viktor had described earlier burned bright under the evening glow of the moon.

The uncrowned king of Mondstadt, he recalled Viktor calling him that. Anyone could see the title befitted the man.

He was young. Younger than him, maybe. He was walking out of the city alone after curiously ignoring something one of the knights had said to him, striding with a quiet kind of poise. The kind that Childe would often only see from those affluent aristocrats back in Snezhnaya. 

He had long decided that he was going to fight him. To test his strength, to prove if the rumors were true. Judging by the pyro vision sitting on his hip and the physical build of his figure, there was a great chance that it could be true.

The first time he talked to him, he expected him to yell, spit on his face with disgust, maybe even greet him with a strike to his solar plexus, but he was surprisingly quiet. He gazed right back at him, as if unafraid of his title. Something that Childe barely gets to see from another, so it thrills him. 

“Hello.” Tartaglia appeared before him with a smile, halting his path across the bridge by the city’s gate. “What an honor to be in the presence of the wine master.”

The redhead merely glanced at him, crimson eyes narrowing to look at him with subtle disdain. Two seconds passed, and he moved around him to continue walking as if he hadn’t heard him. It was an odd response—at least based from what Viktor had mentioned earlier. 

“Where are you headed, young master?” He pushed, following suit with his hands clasped behind him.

“Nothing of importance to share, harbinger.”

His voice was smooth, calm, like thick honey that slid down your throat with ease. He could at least tell that Fatui assistant was right, that he really did loathe them based on his sharp tone and narrowed eyes, but what's odd was that he wasn't verbally assaulting the man. How painfully boring.

“How's your stamina? Think you're up for a good exercise?” Do you want to fight? He began to subtly wiggle the big question in, but the redhead only grunted and walked faster.

“Are you headed to Springvale? I was just over there this morning.” He continued to prod at the quiet man, who merely shook his head in response. 

“I suggest you go back to your hotel. You’ve caused enough trouble in Springvale.”

“Oh, you heard about that?” He laughed, almost sheepish, though he wasn’t sorry. 

“My men are watching you,” he replied, and though descriptively vague, it sends a thrill up Tartaglia’s spine. So he’s been watching him. Interesting.

“How flattering. I heard about you from one of mine,” he grinned, then stood in front of him to block his path once again. “I hear you’re a busy man, being a tycoon and all… but if you have time to spare for me, I know a secluded place we can go to.” The harbinger continued to push with a wide grin, and finally, the other man’s calm demeanor vanished. 

“Why in Teyvat would I–?” He began before abruptly cutting himself off. And then his face flushed a shade of red. Childe doubted it at first. Maybe it was a trick of the light, from the dull lamp post shining on the fiery shade of his hair and reflecting on his face, but when he leaned a little closer, it was definitely from the blood rushing to his face.

He was getting angry, he supposed. Childe grinned wider in excitement. This was it. His fingers twitched, ready to summon his blades. The redhead was going to swing at him, and then he’ll draw his weapon and attack. He's ready. He'll take the first blow for the fun of it, then he’ll parry, and–

“I’m busy. Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

And then the excitement within him deflates just like that.

—

The second time Tartaglia had seen him was just after that disappointing incident, though it was painfully brief. The Gods have blessed him with another opportunity as he exited the cathedral, only to be greeted with a familiar mop of red curls from afar, just below the statue.

“Master Diluc!” He called his name out with a wave (thanks to his new buddy Viktor), only to be aggressively silenced by a sister with a glare. He muttered a quiet apology and ran down the stairs. 

The other man looked his way for a second and continued walking, this time a bit faster, but Tartaglia was quick to catch up to his pace.

“Are you free today?” He asked again, and the man’s cheeks go rouge. Again.

“No,” he gruffed in response and walked away. Childe just stood there with his arms crossed.

He hasn't even had a single chance to tell him what he wanted yet.

The night after that incident, he found himself back in the tavern consulting with the city's very own Cavalry Captain. He's been acquainted with him since day one, but he's only been aware of his relation with Master Diluc just after his conversation with Viktor this morning. The perks of having a conversation-deprived Fatui underling in Mondstadt. 

“I keep asking if he's free but he keeps dismissing me with a red face. I just want a good spar.”

“Red face?” The captain, Kaeya, repeated with a raised brow. Or with both brows raised. Tartaglia couldn't quite tell from under his eyepatch. “He’s usually stoic. Pale like a dead man.”

“He was, initially. It only began after I offered to take him somewhere secluded and–”

Kaeya choked on his drink and it made him stop talking.

“Apologies. Go on.” The captain dismissed it with a flick of his wrist. Childe gave him a confused look before proceeding.

“…And then he kept saying no before I could even ask him to fight me. Mondstadt is great and all, but it's easy to run out of things to do in here.”

Kaeya had a smirk on his face for a second, and Childe wondered if he was just seeing things because it disappeared almost instantly.

“Ah, well, there’s really no need to ask him. He'll just keep saying no. You know how he is with the Fatui; he won't give in to whatever it is you want,” the captain spoke before taking another sip of his drink, “You wanted my advice, didn’t you? It’s easy. Just keep pushing his buttons. And no matter what happens, don’t be straightforward with what you want. Otherwise he'll immediately deny you.”

Childe leaned over the counter with his elbows to listen intently. 

“Be subtle about it. Keep asking him for some… alone time.” Behind the counter, the bartender coughed.

“I try, but I can never get a word in with him. He's always on the move, it seems.”

Kaeya tapped on the wooden counter, thinking. Childe motions for another drink. 

“Dawn winery,” he finally spoke just after a minute or two, “It's where he's currently residing in. He's often there during the afternoon. Bring him the finest bottle of grape juice while you're at it.”

“Grape juice?” Tartaglia asked with a tilt to his head. 

“Say you hate wine. What’s better to piss of a wine master? Plus, it’s suspicious. It's practically an invitation to a fist fight.”

It took a while for him to realize the meaning behind his words, and then Childe eventually grins. Receiving a drink from a harbinger was suspicious after all.

“I see what you mean now.”

“Give it as a little gift. Maybe even consider giving him something to eat while you’re at it. And then ask for a nice, private, stroll,” he hummed, emphasizing the word ‘private.’

—

Kaeya had mentioned the young master’s routine last night. It was relatively simple, not much to it compared to the usual routine of others who lived such lavish lives.

Apparently he would usually spend the morning in his office doing paperwork, then head outside to manage the staff by afternoon, and then he would just be busy outside during the evening. 

“Doing what?” Childe remembered asking, and Kaeya shook his head.

“None of what you probably have in mind. He’s a sad, insipid man.”

Arriving to the winery was not a difficult process. All one had to do was follow the scent of wine. The winery was big, and the field of grapevines immediately consumed his senses even before it came into sight. There were barrels and barrels of wine just along the side of the mansion, wagons full of rich berries and flocks of crystalflies. 

What a luxury to live as a wine master, Childe thinks. 

When he drew closer to the entrance of the mansion, he thankfully immediately finds the young master talking to a man with silver hair. His usual coat was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was tied up in a different way. He looked better, younger. Even his own staff are lucky, it seems. To be able to see him dressed so casual like that.

“Master Diluc,” He approached him with a bounce in his step. He stood in front of him with a smile that was close to skittish. “What are you up to?”

Diluc looked at him with a surprised look in his eyes and furrowed brows. The silver haired man next to him visibly tensed, but Tartaglia ignored him.

The question remained unanswered after a minute had passed, so he extended one of his arms to reveal a bottle wrapped in fine cloth, already expecting to be called every name under the sun.

“A gift for the wine master.” Childe grins. “No funny business in there. Wouldn’t want to poison the uncrowned king of Mondstadt.”

What kind of sick joke is this? He can already hear him saying it with the way he was looking at him. Tartaglia tried to contain his excitement, his fingers already itching and ready. He would probably take it and smash it on his head, throw it, punch him. The silver-haired man next to him glanced at the young master, wary, as if assessing if he was about to snap, until–

“Thank you.” Diluc received bottle and Childe could only blink at him in surprise.

What the hell was that?

“You’re… welcome?”

He watched the young master peer through the cloth, and then his mouth formed an ‘o’.

“Uh, a nice little plate of vatrushka would have been a great pair with that. I’d have made it had I been supplied with ingredients from my hometown,” Tartaglia spoke all of a sudden, remembering what Kaeya had mentioned last night.

Diluc shifts in his feet, the high mounds of his cheeks now a shade of pink. Childe’s mind went blank for a moment.

Focus, damn it.

“But I can make something else. If you want. If you’ll have me.” He blinked up at him with unfeigned innocence.

Diluc coughed, “Um, it’s quite alright, thank you.”

“Huh, bummer. Alright. Whatever the young master says.” The harbinger rocked forward and back on his heels as Diluc politely instructed the man next to him to take the bottle inside. Some of the maids were watching by now, but neither of the two addressed it.

“So, care for a stroll?” Tartaglia offered one more time, “Just you and me?”

Diluc looked away. Was he embarrassed? How odd. 

“I’ll have to pass.” Childe frowned.

“But–”

“Thank you for your kindness. Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

The door closes.

—

“He must have been busy,” Kaeya hummed against the mouth of his drink, “You know how nobles are.”

Childe was leaning forward on counter. There was a little green bard that drew away the attention of the bartender, so he couldn’t even get his own drink. Tartaglia was tired, bored out of his mind, and he needed a damn drink. Everything bad that could ever occur in his state was happening all at once.

“I thought he hated the Fatui? I expected him to strangle me the very moment I stepped into the winery.” He continued to whine at the man with the eyepatch. They were probably already close enough to call each other acquaintances by now.

“He couldn’t even if he wanted to. Wouldn’t be wise to rouse conflict between our little old nation and yours.” Kaeya quirked a brow at him. The harbinger could only sigh and stare at the navy-haired man’s drink with envy.

“What if you gave him a bouquet of lamp grass?” The captain suddenly spoke, pretending not to notice his obvious thirst for his own drink. He noticed him grip on his glass a tiny bit tighter, though.

“Lamp grass?”

“It's a flower. The glowing ones. Not very pretty, in my opinion.” He shrugged and took a sip.

“Okay, but why in Teyvat would I send him flowers?” It was the harbinger’s turn to raise a brow at him now. Kaeya only shrugged once again.

“It’s odd. Suspicious.”

He sighed and slumped back down at the counter. He’s never sent anyone flowers before, but even he could tell that giving the man a bouquet of flowers wouldn’t work.

“What are my other options?”

“Come on. He's an odd man with a short temper. It won't take much to piss him off. Just be subtle with it. Lamp grass is your best option here.”

Normally, Childe would have doubted the words coming out of his mouth had it been from anyone else. But he was talking to his brother, someone who claimed to know Diluc more than Diluc knew himself. 

It did make sense if he thought about it, actually. Anything a harbinger can give to someone is considered as suspicious anyway.

“Say you want to strangle him or something. Maybe the other way around. Up to your preference, really.”

The harbinger placed a hand under his chin to think about it. He could picture his hand around the redhead’s throat as he pinned him down. Or maybe Diluc would have him pinned down instead, gloved hand warmly pressing against his throat. That didn’t sound so bad.

“Hm, I suppose I wouldn't be so opposed to getting choked.” Kaeya almost spat his drink right after hearing his response. Childe glanced at him with visible confusion. What is it with him and his drinks, lately?

“Your brain is just filled with battle. It’s a curious little thing.”

“Right,” Tartaglia just replied, unsure of what he meant. “You sure the flowers will work? Lamp grass, was it? Seems a bit like a foolish move, but I’ll see it done.”

Just right next to him, the man snickered, “Not like there's a difference after what happened in Liyue.”

“Tsaritsa’s tits. It reached Mondstadt, too?” He sighed, and he was back to slouching.

“Not really. I just have sources.”

The bartender finally appeared right across the harbinger, who immediately lit up after seeing him. He wasted no time on asking for a drink. Two, even.

“I have an idea.” The harbinger was now sitting up straight with a bright grin, his own drink sloshing around in his hand. “What if I kidnapped one of his maids and coerce him into fighting me?”

“…You forget you are talking to the Cavalry Captain.”

“Right, right,” he sighed.

—

The following morning, the harbinger roamed around the Whispering Woods to look for lamp grass. He assembled the bouquet himself, which almost took an hour considering how sparse the flowers were located from one another. It was almost funny, given how most would gather flowers for a date, but all Tartaglia could think about was having the young master in an empty field as they danced with their blades. Which seems more befitting, in all honesty.

When afternoon came, the harbinger was back in the winery’s doorstep. Diluc was nowhere to be seen outside this time, just the same silver-haired man he saw yesterday. The man recognized Tartaglia and immediately flashed him a smile, an obviously fake one, but he didn't care.

“Afternoon, comrade,” he greeted him with a toothy smile and a heavy pat to his shoulder. “Mind fetching the young master for me?”

“Of course, sir.” He gave a small bow, and then disappeared into the mansion’s doors. Tartaglia was here for one thing, and that was to finally have his hands on him.

When the doors open again, they finally revealed a very confused Master Diluc. This was it, he thought to himself. Execute, be swift, and strike while he's still clueless. 

The bouquet was then stretched out, brushing the young master's undershirt right over his chest. Diluc stares at it, unmoving, and then his face goes pink. A reaction Childe still couldn't rationalize with logic—though he isn't one to reason with logic at all.

It could only, possibly mean that trouble was coming, right? Tartaglia remembered how his one of his colleagues would grow bright red in rage after he'd tease about his height, or how his teacher back in his hometown would react with fury whenever he caused trouble. The amount of adrenaline he’d feel from their rage… Tucked in his belt, his hydro vision glowed, and his eyes probably twinkled in excitement.

The harbinger gave him a few seconds. He received two confused blinks, and then eventually, Diluc glared at him. 

“Just what are you doing, harbinger?”

“Giving you another gift?” He stated it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tartaglia shook the bouquet a little, making Diluc's brows pinch together. “I won’t stop until you indulge me with a private rendezvous.”

The pink on his cheeks darkened to a flush after hearing his statement. Diluc looked down at the flowers again, then back up at the harbinger. He almost looked embarrassed, but Childe could be wrong.

“I'm busy.”

His fingers twitched around the bouquet. He was determined to end the day with a fight no matter what.

“Come on, at least take the flowers. I spent an hour making it myself… or is there something wrong with it?” Tartaglia stepped forward, “Is it suspicious? Do you dislike it? Do you maybe want to take me somewhere private so you can unleash your anger?”

The flowers got yanked out of his hands with such haste he barely had the time to realize it was the young master who took it. And then, before he could say anything else, Diluc dismissed him with his usual last words.

“Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

The doors close with a slam, and Childe's smile fell. 

—

The harbinger slumped forward against the counter, his arms sprawled across the wood, as if hugging it to ease the constant rejection. 

“Absolutely no progress!” He practically whined, cheek squished against the counter as he gazed up at the calm man with an eyepatch. 

“He's just keeping an image. Trust me, all he needs is a spark.”

Childe grumbled something in Snezhnayan under his breath and asked for a drink from the very nice Charles.

“Spark,” he grumbled, this time in a dialect Kaeya could understand, “You forget I have a hydro vision.”

“Not to worry, harbinger.” The captain tried to console him with a light pat to his back.

“Tomorrow is the weekend,” Kaeya said with a wink. Or maybe it was only a blink. He really couldn't tell with the eyepatch and all. Instead of asking, though, he was more curious about one thing.

“What’s with the weekend?”

—

Childe was ready. It was Saturday. The weekend.

He's known Diluc's routine by heart now thanks to the very reliable Cavalry Captain.

Apparently, Charles gets the weekend off, because Diluc is a considerate boss. Then the young master himself would take over the tavern for him for two nights. It was the most perfect opportunity for him to converse with the man. This time, he doubted that Diluc could even dismiss him with another goodbye. 

“What can I get for you,” a voice from across him pulls him out of his internal monologue. It wasn't even a question, it came out more as a sigh. Childe blinked and the permanent shit-eating grin immediately appeared on his face. He leaned his face against his left hand and stared up at the bartender.

“Whatever the wine master wants to give me,” he replied, tone cheery compared to the other’s. Diluc's brow twitched.

“I'll leave you, then.”

“Hey, wait–” he immediately called for him, though the young master didn't actually move away. Diluc crossed his arms. “Alright, fine. Think I'll have some of your famous dandelion wine for tonight.”

With a sigh, the substitute bartender gets to work. Childe mulled his game plan over while he had his back turned to him.

First, I'll push on his buttons. He thought to himself as he watched Diluc's hand moved with such expertise it momentarily distracts him. Then I invite him to the back. Diluc's turned back around to grab something from the counter, so now Tartaglia could see every flex of his fingers very well. Then we start using our hands—to fight, of course, and the rest of it will be up to where it'll take us.

Tartaglia would have forgotten about his drink if he hadn't smelled the sweet scent of it suddenly sliding its way under his nose. Although he preferred something stronger, he couldn't argue with the fact that Mondstadt really did have the best wine. 

“It's a shame you didn't agree to selling firewater here. I heard about what happened with your failed deal with Snezhnayan alcohol,” he laughed, recalling the story Kaeya had told him a couple nights ago.

Diluc's stoic face flashed embarrassment for a second, and his eyes quickly fleeted around the tavern as if to scan if anyone has been listening. 

“Oh? Was that a secret? My apologies.” He brought a gloved hand up to cover his mouth, as if surprised, but the tone of his voice alone indicated that he wasn’t sorry.

“I suggest you keep your mouth shut, Fatui.” He snapped after realizing everyone was minding their own business.

This was it. The first step of his plan. Tartaglia was already buzzing with excitement beneath his uniform.  

“What are you going to do about it? Gonna take me outside to shut me up?” He leaned closer towards the redhead, eyes narrowed to flash him a smug grin.

He could already taste how good it'd feel to have the man's hands on him. Maybe he was being too confident in the man's skills when he'd probably only end up pinning him down in a flash, though Childe wouldn't be so opposed to it ending so quickly. Who knows, maybe he's the one who will end up getting pinned down instead. He wouldn't be so opposed to that either.

Diluc grows red, and his mouth parts to speak, but just before he could even say a word, a drunk man calls Diluc for another serving.

The young master composed himself with a clear of his throat and doesn't bother giving Tartaglia another look. He simply grabbes a bottle from the shelf and moved frim behind the counter.

Damn it. He was so close. He actually looked like he was just about to give in.

Tartaglia turned his head to eye the redhead from one of the tables. The man who pulled Diluc away from the counter was laughing so loud it irked him.

—

“You were right. I was so close,” he said to the captain as a groaned whisper the second he entered the tavern. He wasn’t in his usual uniform this time, but he looked just as clean that it made him wonder just what exactly a Cavalry Captain does in the city.

“Oh?” Kaeya sits by the counter. Diluc was currently occupied with a drunk singing bard by the corner of the tavern, so they were free to converse without him overhearing.

“He went so red last night, almost like his hair,” he laughed, “I think he was close to hitting me."

“What did you do?” The captain seemed bored, unamused, but Childe ignored it.

“He told me to shut up, and then I asked if he was going to take me outside to shut me up.” He grinned at the man, who was a bit distracted from trying to order a drink from the occupied bartender. 

“And was it clear to him that you meant through a fight?” The captain replied a minute later after giving up on calling for Diluc’s attention. He leaned forward over the counter and grabbed a bottle for himself, only to drink straight out of it. 

“…Yes? What else could it possibly mean?” Tartaglia replied, confused, but also envious of how Kaeya could just grab a whole bottle from the counter without getting into too much trouble.

“Nothing, of course. Just checking.”

The harbinger had stepped out of the tavern with a hearty stretch the last second the tavern was closing that evening. Diluc had long left to escort the drunk little bard before he could even get a word in, and he never returned after someone took over the tavern. Kaeya did mention that they were the busiest during the weekend. But nonetheless, he was disappointed with their lack of contact.

Tartaglia sighed and rolled his shoulders, and then began to head back to the hotel.

Mondstadt was so different from the last nation he’s been to. In the land of geo, there were plenty of geovishaps and hatchlings that hit like a bitch, and Childe has never missed fighting one until he was in Mondstadt. In here, within the tiny city, everything was safe and almost conflict-free in the hands of the knights. He barely indulged in a bit of exercise nowadays and he was getting antsy.

That was until he rounded along a corner and he sees a familiar shade of red.

He stopped in his tracks to watch the person properly, wary of the possibility he was seeing things because he was getting delirious. But the young master was still there even after he rubbed his eyes, and he was walking.

Back to the tavern? It was hard to tell. The tavern was in another way, but then again, he could be wrong. He’s only a visitor.

Without hesitation, Childe had followed suit.

From his perspective, Diluc looked like he was patrolling the streets from the shadows. It was curious behavior from a tycoon like himself. He vividly recalled Kaeya mentioning his evening pastime and calling it tedious. Was he talking about this activity?

He followed Diluc walk to the second gate with quiet steps. It truly was quite boring. The only reason why he was still following him after all that distance was because it was incredibly suspicious.

And, oh, the young master was gone, nowhere to be seen. Tartaglia had only looked away for a second to avoid a crack in the pavement.

He looked to his right, then to his left, until–

His back hit the wall with a slam that it caught him off guard.

“How rude of you to follow me around.” The assailant said gruffly, and Childe immediately recognized that voice.

“Good evening, Master Diluc,” he smiled, dizzy with excitement.

Finally. He could tell he was strong just from his grip alone. Diluc had his arm pressed directly over his collar as he pressed him against the wall, pinning him in place. Tartaglia could only stand there and take it, willingly surrendering to his strength.

“Don’t tell me you lost your way to the hotel?” The redhead glared at him with such intensity it makes his knees weak.

“Oh, no, I am very much familiar with the route to the Goth Grand Hotel.”

Diluc’s eyes narrowed into slits, and his grip on him tightened. Tartaglia’s eyes fell half-lidded, welcoming his strength.

“Mind telling me what you were doing?”

“Watching you. I was determined to have your hands on me by the end of the evening, and it looks like it’s finally working.”

With that, Diluc lets go almost immediately, but still stood close. It was disappointing to have his grip withdraw from his body, but Childe could easily have it back on him if he played his cards right. 

“I was wondering when you’d notice me. You were moving suspiciously… like a secret hero. It’s interesting. I’ve heard of the legends.”

The other man was quiet. Play your cards right, he told himself. Childe leaned forward until he could feel Diluc’s breath.

“Though I must say, I like the feel of your hands on me. Don’t you think we should go somewhere else more private so we can continue? You got me excited and all.”

The redhead instinctively took a step back, a slight flush creeping up on his face.

“You think too highly of yourself. I would never–” he cut himself off and then flushed even more. Childe watched him curiously. “I would never. Especially with someone like you.”

“That is quite offending. Do I have to prove myself to you? Are you more of a visual learner?” He took another step closer, then placed a hand over his shoulder. “Maybe hands-on? Whatever you want. I'm quite flexible.” Diluc’s mouth parted in disbelief then took another step back.

“I– have you no shame?”

“Shame?”

“You’re so… indecent. Shamelessly throwing out words you want to say.”

Tartaglia took another step forward until it was the other’s turn to be pinned to the wall.

“What’s wrong with my words? I didn’t know a few rough talk could throw you off.”

“I–,” he makes a pained noise, then scrunches his brows to express his fury, “You’re so desperate it’s pathetic.”

The harbinger grinned, “So what if I am? Would you be convinced if I beg for it? Do you like having the upper hand, Master Diluc?”

It seems that the young master has finally snapped, but it wasn’t at all like how Tartaglia had imagined it to play out. Because instead of cutting off his airway or something else that involved maiming him, he was shoved back against the wall with such intensity it made him dizzy, and he was kissing him roughly.

Not that the harbinger minded. It took a while for him to submit to the kiss, but he eventually did, and they were moving, panting in unison, fondling each other’s chests. Childe didn’t know what was happening, but he welcomed it. Every touch, every kiss. He felt the other’s knee slip between his legs to grind against him, which makes him gasp.

“What are you doing?” He exhaled, hands flying up to grab onto his shoulders because he felt like he was slipping.

“Weren’t you begging for this? Don’t tell me you want to act innocent now.” Diluc bit on his neck so roughly it excited him. This wasn’t exactly the kind of fight he wanted, craved for, but he couldn’t help but think it wasn’t so bad.

“Since when did I ask for something so,” another gasp, “so indecent?”

And then it clicked. 

“You’re so… indecent. Shamelessly throwing out words you want to say.”

Childe blinked.

What?

He blinked again, then again, until realization dawned upon him. All this time, all those moments, every word he’s ever said from the beginning… they could have easily been misinterpreted the other way. And Diluc has been thinking of it the other way.

Tartaglia squeezed on the man’s shoulders to unlatch him from his neck despite how good it felt. Diluc stared at him with both confusion and frustration.

“Wait, Master Diluc, I’m afraid there’s been some sort of misunderstanding between us,” he explained, and then laughed. “And you say I’m the desperate one.”

“Elaborate. I don’t speak stupid.” He was annoyed, but his lips were wet and his pupils were wide, and it looked more like he was annoyed at the fact that Childe had pushed him off.

“All I wanted was to fight you. I’ve been trying to ask you since the first day.”

“Fight me?” He echoed with a scowl, “And you’ve been asking through innuendos?”

“Innuendos?” he echoed the word this time. “When did I ever say an innuendo?”

Diluc looked at him in disbelief, as if assessing if he was just playing dumb. And when he saw him step backwards and pinch the bridge of his nose, he realized that Diluc probably found out he was being genuine.

“So you wanted to fight me, and you thought giving me a drink and a bouquet of flowers would work?”

“Well, yes? I mean, the Cavalry Captain said–”

“Kaeya? You were listening to Kayea?” He glared at the harbinger, who could only awkwardly shift in his feet.

“…Yes?” he answered, unsure. He was still buzzing with excitement, fingers and palms tingling to grab, squeeze, or claw on something.

“Go back to your hotel, Tartaglia,” Master Diluc finally said with a sigh, “If it’s a fight you really want, I have time tomorrow evening.”

“Really?” And just like that, the harbinger had brightened up like a little kid. Part of him was bummed they didn’t get to continue kissing, though. Diluc glared at him in return, but the blush in his face was still there.

“As long as you leave me alone afterwards.”

No promises. He doesn’t say it out loud.

—

It was another one of those pleasant days where the eleventh couldn’t help but whistle a tune from his hometown. When the sun fell, Childe was already standing by the winery’s door with a giddy feeling.

“Good evening, Master Diluc.” He greeted him with a grin that was all teeth. The young master greeted him with a light flush the moment the doors swung open.

“Let’s hurry and get this over with,” he muttered before walking past the smiling man.

The temple they settled in was empty. Tartaglia vividly remembered a ruined guard roaming around the area the last time he came here, which was curiously nowhere to be found. He wondered if the young master had cleared it out before they even arrived.

Diluc stood across him, claymore in hand. A good choice of weapon, he thought to himself. He remembered using one back then, how heavy it hung in his hand. The way he lifted it so effortlessly was a silent testament to the young master’s strength.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Tartaglia grinned, tightening his grasp around his blades. The redhead wasted no time charging forward the moment the last word rolled off his lips, and then they were dancing.

To an outsider, the battle may look vicious. To the harbinger, though, he’d say they were close to dancing.

Hydro and pyro clashed, creating vapor, and the air around them almost humidifies from the reaction. It was a constant push and pull, but it was slower than a serious fight. It was almost playful, as if they were teasing each other. It was fun. Wonderful. And Childe was… aroused. Maybe. Possibly. 

Diluc was a beautiful, skilled fighter. Watching him charge at him with such focus and fire was almost distracting. He moved quickly, carrying and swinging his great-sword around.

Five minutes in, and the other managed to wind him with a kiss of his blade. It slid across his shoulder, smooth and red like those silk flowers from Liyue. It caught him off guard, but Diluc was unrelenting. He didn’t stop, didn’t let the harbinger catch his balance before charging.

Tartaglia had barely blocked his blade with his own on time, and he was pressing close, could feel him breathing, weapons shaking with force, and then–

He retaliates by ducking, making the other fall forward. The momentum of great force suddenly diminishing made the other loosen his grip on his claymore and it falls to the floor with a clang.

Immediately, the harbinger takes advantage of his lack of weapon and charged with quick slashes. Diluc adjusted and parries with quick dodges, uncaring of how his hair was slipping out of his black ribbon, of how Childe was delivering hard blows against his forearm as he blocked his hits.

“You’re good,” he commends him with a light laugh, “It’s been a while since I’ve had such worthy opponent.”

“I was enjoying myself until you opened your mouth.”

Diluc then charged with flames, weapon out of sight, and Childe laughed breathlessly. The smile splitting his face was downright manic.

How long did it last? It felt like forever, but also like a second. Their elements clashed and vaporized everywhere, and when Diluc suddenly goes to tackle him, Tartaglia lets him. An old trick in his book, one that his master had taught him back then. But before he could even execute it, before he could slip his foot in and kick him out of the way, Diluc had already pinned him down with a small blade to his neck.

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, his mind frantically echoed the words, still high on adrenaline. There was a slight tremble in his fingers where he gripped on his own blades, on his thighs, and his stomach stirred in a way that was so inappropriate it was sickening.

“You’re amazing,” he uttered breathlessly, true admiration dripping from the words. Childe knew he was grinning wide up at the other. He couldn’t help the utter delight seeping out of him. 

Diluc hovered above him with a still expression, the tip of his blade pressing against his neck. Holy fuck, it was practically a turn on. He didn’t even know something like that would get him going in that way.

“Looks like you lost.”

There was a sheen layer of sweat over the redhead’s forehead, and his lips were parted as he caught his breath. Childe squirmed a little beneath him, causing the other to press the blade even deeper, as if telling him not to move.

Tartaglia could accept defeat. It always served as an indication to grow stronger, but this time, with the redhead pinning him down with a cold gaze and a dagger to his throat, he felt like he was winning. 

“Ah, can’t we– can’t we do it again? Toy with me some more?” He croaked out, testing the waters. They couldn’t possibly just end it right there after having such a good time. That would be far too cruel.

Diluc flushed a little. The same rouge color that painted his cheeks was spreading all the way down to his neck. To the harbinger’s unfortunate dismay, he withdrew himself from their position and straightened his undershirt.

“I trust you will leave me alone now.” The young master spoke, gracefully dusting off his clothes before picking up his weapon.

Childe lifted himself with his elbows to look up at the other to retaliate.

“We’re done already? That’s not fair. I was distracted,” he whined like a little kid, which only made Diluc groan as he exited the field.

—

“Well? How did it go?”

Childe moved to sit on his usual spot right next to the captain’s stool. The very lovely Charles was back behind the counter, mixing the drink the harbinger had requested with a bright smile.

“Good, I guess. I finally managed to take him.”

Kaeya laughed and shook his head before saying, “You really ought to fix your choice of words.”

“I meant in a fight,” he corrected with a raised brow.

“Right, of course. That mark on your neck is a bruise from your fight, then?”

Childe’s hand reflexively went up to touch the area. He’d nearly forgotten about how Diluc was kissing on his neck the other night. The thought of it made his face heat up a little.

“Hm, that's what I thought.”

“Nothing else happened besides our fight,” he argued with a scowl. “Also, what the fuck? You told me he would hate the flowers and all that. Those were his favorite.”

“Oh? And here I was expecting words of gratitude. You forget I was the one who made all of this work out.”

Childe placed his head on his hand and slouched forward. The drink he had ordered appeared before him when he sat back up straight.

“Never mind that. I’m just disappointed it ended before I could even enjoy myself.”

“What, did he pull out too early?” Kaeya asked while grinning at the mouth of his drink, as if he just said the funniest joke in his life. Tartaglia looked at him with momentary confusion. 

“Yeah, I guess.” The harbinger tapped on the counter to the tune of the tavern’s music. Behind the counter, Charles had coughed a little, as if he choked on his own spit. Tartaglia merely gave him a glance before turning back to look at the drinking captain.

“Think he'll be mad if I asked for another round?”

Kaeya looked at him in disbelief for a second, as if astonished he would even continue consulting with him even after realizing he had just been playing as their wingman, but Childe was just as oblivious as ever. Forever consumed with the thought of battle.

“Oh, not at all. I know my brother. It’s a good thing I've got a few other tricks up my sleeve…”