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“I’m fine—” Diluc protests feebly, trying to push Childe away. Childe shushes him, half pulling, half dragging Diluc. “Why are you here?” he sighs, resigned to the fact that Childe isn’t letting him go anytime soon.
“I,” Childe proclaims grandly, “am here to prevent the lovely Master Diluc from collapsing on his feet and risking his nation’s safety— since for some reason he never takes a goddamn break.”
His tone is teasing, but his smile dips into a frown, as if he’s genuinely worried.
He isn’t, Diluc knows. It’s a momentary facade, one he’ll bring up in an argument a few hundred years later in an attempt to prove he’s nice (or simply to laugh at how miserable Diluc is, the possibilities are endless).
“I’m fine,” he scowls again, to no avail. Albeit the effect is more than a little ruined by his pathetic shivering, and he tries not to sniffle— no matter how much his nose runs.
Childe’s hands are warm as he pats his shoulders, once, twice— voice dripping with judgement. “Sure you are.”
Diluc looks away, grumbling something unintelligibly under his breath.
He wouldn’t even have this stupid fever if he hadn’t gone to Dragonspine and slipped into that lake— that place is a menace.
To be fair, Diluc didn’t even know he could get sick at all. And it isn’t just him; Childe agrees. He frowns and mutters something about being more careful while taking his siblings ice-fishing; honestly, Diluc doesn’t want to know anymore about strange Snezhnayan customs.
(Hearing “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again." was enough to put him off visiting the Tsaritsa’s nation, basically forever.)
Especially considering Snezhnaya is almost entirely covered in snow… he gets enough of that whenever he needs something from Dragonspine. Usually, he would curse Celestia for whatever mishaps occurred— but this time, the fever is simply a result of his negligence.
Silently berating himself for his idiocy and Childe for being a nuisance, he doesn’t notice how quickly the sun has set— although it makes sense. Diluc has never liked winter days. The winds are harsh, and the sharp sting against his skin isn’t something he appreciates.
Mercifully, they’ve already reached.
“Adelinde!” Childe calls, raising his voice so she can hear him from wherever she is in the house— acting like he’s been here countless times. “We’re here!”
It’s so strange, as if he has any right to look so at-home in the Winery, like he… fits.
Adelinde comes down, a harried look on her face. Age has been kind to her, more than wrinkles there are smile lines— she looks… happy. He doesn’t stay at the Winery anymore, and his visits are few & far between.
He’s never given much thought to it, but her expression when she sees him makes him more than a little guilty for not coming by as often.
“Master Diluc!” she admonishes (somehow, it sounds the exact same as when she scolded him and Kaeya for staying out too long— Archons, how long ago was that?) “You need to take better care of yourself— how are you supposed to protect people if you don’t even look after your own health?!”
“Right!” Childe exclaims, “he’s so careless, it’s embarrassing.” He bows a little, tossing his head back (the attempt to be dramatic is absolutely ruined by the fact that his hair is nowhere near long enough) “Worry not though! I am here to ensure our darling saviour is taken care of.”
“Darling?” Adelinde mouths, lips threatening to break out in a grin, and to his mortification, Diluc feels a blush spreading on his face.
Darling.
He hates it here.
Oblivious, Childe continues. “Adelinde, would you be so kind as to direct me to Master Diluc’s room? I’d like to take him to bed, lest his fever become worse.”
To Diluc’s horror, Adelinde has the sheer nerve to wink. “Of course,” she nods. “Right through this way.”
They don’t— they don’t do this.
Childe comes every few years to beg him to spar, and they go at it for hours before bandaging each other’s wounds in the quiet hush of the night; before they go their separate ways.
They don’t do this. They don’t stay together, they don’t lie so close that if he shifted just a bit, his hand would be on Childe’s, that they would be touching skin to skin.
Childe has never stayed.
The thought is tinged with bitterness, but Diluc has both too much and not enough self awareness to pay attention to his opinion on the matter.
He wants to ask if this is what Childe does for his family, for the people he truly cares about. Does he cook his awful monstrosity of a dish that looks more like a sea monster than food? Does he sing the oddly bloodthirsty Snezhnayan lullabies to help fall asleep?
(Do you care for me, is what he really wants to know, but it’s a desire much too embarrassing to admit to even himself, let alone voice out-loud.)
Frowning, he struggles against his blanket (a futile attempt, really) — trying to find a comfortable position where he doesn't feel suffocated. He's both sweating and shivering simultaneously, it's wholly uncomfortable. He's hyper-aware of the feeling of Childe's body lying next to his, and every soft inhale and exhale rings in his ears— the situation is horrible in its entirety.
Presently, all he wants to do is get pulverised into pieces by a crashing meteor. Is that dramatic? Diluc is inclined to disagree.
An involuntary groan leaves his mouth, and to his alarm, the redhead hears the bed creak before Childe blearily blinks at him.
"Why aren't you asleep," he asks, his voice a hushed whisper.
"It's too hot with the blankets," Diluc answers truthfully, unwilling to break the bubble of silence they're in.
Childe lifts his arms, before heaving the blanket off both of them. Diluc gasps, the sudden shock of air against skin making him shiver.
Childe turns a little, and then promptly wraps his arms around Diluc's torso.
"What the fuck are you doing," he hisses, and prays Childe can't see him flush in his sleepy haze.
Grumbling, Childe only pulls Diluc closer— it's all he can do not to scream. "Sleep," he mutters irritably, and immediately burrows his head in the crook of his shoulder.
Diluc almost instantly feels Childe doze off again, his breathing evening out in mere seconds.
He contemplates the repercussions of using Celestia’s given gifts and burning Childe’s hands off him, but that seems a tad rash.
If he just doesn’t think so much, there’s no problem, is there?
Haven’t you dreamt of this for a hundred years, stop being such an idiot, a voice murmurs in his head— one that's suspiciously similar to Kaeya.
Sighing, he nods to no one in particular. Kaeya’s always been the more intelligent of the two of them anyway.
Closing his eyes, Diluc tries to relax his body, strangely comforted by the warmth of the man next to him.
When he finally drifts, it happens to be the best he’s slept in centuries.
Come morning, there will be bitter concoctions to drink, and even more bitter conversations to have. But for now, Diluc has Childe’s arms around him.
For now, he’s dreaming.
It’s enough.