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The first thing Childe notes while entering Angel’s Share for the first time is the warm and welcoming scent that lingers at the entrance.
It’s different from what he’s used to and it prompts him to glance around the place, taking in every corner of the tavern.
The second thing he notes is, surprisingly, not the bartender.
To be completely honest, he’s not the third, nor the fourth thing he notices.
Instead he catches sight of the redhead while sitting at a table later, not paying much attention to the Fatui diplomat that is supposed to be reporting some official (and probably relevant) information to him.
The first thing he sees is a shock of red hair, hard to miss despite the number of heads crowding the counter. The man turns and Childe thinks:
Woah.
There’s not much to say except he’s, well, gorgeous.
Childe has met a lot of attractive people during his travels. Hell, even his fellow harbingers are up on that list.
But as he stares at the redhead at the counter, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, everyone he’s ever met up to that point pales in comparison.
And ok, maybe he’s more than a little dramatic, considering he can’t even see the guy’s full face from where he’s sitting.
But it doesn’t really matter, he decides, because if he’s been sent to Mondstadt he might as well enjoy his stay.
It’s easy to stare without being seen from where he’s sitting, although it’s less than ideal, since the bartender is almost always partially covered by the stairs.
He spends the next thirty minutes completely ignoring the Fatui diplomat talking to him, instead trying to catch a glimpse of Really-Hot-Redhead-Guy.
“Sir?” the Fatui diplomat’s voice sharply cuts through his thoughts, and Childe turns, blinking a couple of times.
“Yes?”
“That’s about everything, I believe” the diplomat says, looking more than a little annoyed. It doesn’t really matter, though, because they’re too low in ranking to even dare mention Childe’s clear disinterest.
“Thank you,” Childe says, nodding his head. The fatui takes that as their cue to leave, getting up from the table and quickly walking out the door.
Childe turns again, going back to his previous activity of trying to catch the bartender’s face.
Now that the Fatui diplomat is gone, he realizes he could try to approach him. It’s probably not a good idea, he thinks, and debates it over for about five seconds before deciding he doesn’t really care.
He gets up and starts heading towards the counter, but freezes immediately as Really-Hot-Redhead-Guy turns and reveals his face.
He is, clearly, not just any guy.
Childe closes his eyes and mentally counts to ten, because what are the odds of some random cute bartender he sets his sights on being Diluc fucking Ragnvindr.
He doesn’t know him personally, has never met him in person before, but he has seen his face (although at a younger age) and heard of his… history.
He was already aware of the possibility of coming across him during this trip, but he’d never thought these would be the circumstances.
And it doesn’t help that the man is drop dead gorgeous.
Now able to see him fully, Childe realizes he’s even more beautiful than he’d imagined.
But all that does now is piss him off.
Because Childe shouldn’t like him at all, shouldn’t spare a second glance in his direction, but it’s hard when he feels himself almost gravitating towards him.
Too late to go back now.
He sits in one of the empty chairs at the counter, next to a short bard dressed in all green who seems to barely be awake.
“One more refill please,” the bard slurs, not lifting his head from the counter.
The bartender turns their way and glares at him.
“Just leave, I’m not refilling your glass again.”
“But Diluuuuuuuc,” the bard draws out, lifting his head briefly before making it fall back down with a dull thud.
“No,” the bartender- Diluc- snaps, and Childe snickers.
Only then does Diluc notice him, turning his head and frowning slightly in confusion.
He doesn’t look cute. Not at all.
After a second of assessing Childe, his eyes go wide in realization, and his frown quickly turns angry.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Childe raises his eyebrows, leaning on the counter. Interesting.
“Oh?” he asks, tilting his face. “What did I do wrong?”
Diluc makes a face. “I don’t want you Fatui scum in my tavern,” he spits out.
Childe grins and thinks oh, he’s feisty.
“I just came for a drink,” he says, a dangerous glint in his eyes, “I don’t see the harm in that”.
Diluc is about to fire something back, but seems to think better of it, snapping his mouth shut.
“Right. What’s your order?” he grits out.
Childe frowns, disappointed at the lack of reaction.
He blurts out the first drink on the menu and watches as the other man turns, not sparing him a second glance.
Childe stares at him, at the way his arms move and the fast pace of his hands preparing the drink, and thinks that being so effortlessly attractive should not be fair.
His thoughts don’t change after the second or third drink, and when he eventually loses count of how many drinks he’s had, he decides the best thing to do is most definitely tell Diluc how much he’s pissing him off.
“Your voice is really fucking annoying,” Childe snaps and Diluc looks up from what he’s doing, frowning slightly.
“Excuse me?”
Somewhere at the edges of his fuzzy mind he registers that they’re basically alone, the only people in the tavern a few late customers (including that annoying bard).
“It pisses me off. It's, like, really deep and cool and smooth. I hate it,” he replies, and is proud of how serious he sounds.
Diluc needs to know how much he hates him. Which is a lot.
But the redhead just looks more confused. “Okay?”
He looks really fucking pretty when he’s confused. Fucking hell.
Childe splutters, getting up from his seat.
“Fuck you!” he half shouts, and from next to him the bard shoots up, blinking sleepily.
“I fucking hate your hair too. Why do the curls look so soft and why is its color so vibrant? I bet running my hands through it would feel fucking amazing.”
Diluc’s face goes red, and Childe mentally gives himself a high five for finally managing to get a rise out of him
(In the morning he’ll realize that maybe his face wasn’t red out of anger, but that’s something his present drunk-self doesn’t really consider).
He hears the bard snicker from somewhere on his side, and Diluc’s eyes immediately turn to him, his face going from shocked to
livid.
(He also looks embarrassed, a tiny voice at the back of Childe’s head notes.)
“How about you both get out of my fucking tavern,” the redhead snaps, his face almost the color of his hair.
“Gladly,” Childe spits back, only to turn around, feel his head spin, trip over air and barely manage to keep his balance.
He hears the bard snicker again, and turns to see Diluc’s face has gotten even redder.
“Goodbye,” he says loudly, “See you never.”
As he walks away, he hears Diluc huff.
Upon arriving at the dinner, Diluc comes to the conclusion that coming here was probably one of his worst decisions so far.
And he has, admittedly, made a lot of bad decisions in the past.
He sighs, looking around.
Jean had begged him to at least show up, after explaining to him every reason as to why this event was very important, diplomacy-wise.
He couldn’t have said no, not after seeing how much Jean seemed to want him there.
And that’s how he now finds himself navigating through a sea of unknown people, trying to find a relatively empty space.
After half an hour of awkwardly standing in one corner of the ballroom, sipping some grape juice he’d fetched from the banquet earlier, he decides things might be going considerably better than he’d expected.
He counts not having been approached by anyone as a win.
He almost lets himself relax, the possibility of an early escape starting to form in his mind, but his hope is quickly shattered by a familiar blue-haired man catching sight of him and heading toward his direction.
Just my luck, Diluc thinks, scowling as the man comes up to him.
“Well, hello Master Diluc,” Kaeya says, a lazy grin on his face. “Surprised to see you here.”
“Sir Kaeya,” he grits out in acknowledgement, nodding slightly. “I was actually planning to leave soon.”
“Aw, that’s a real shame,” the other replies, “You should loosen up a little, talk to people; I’ve met quite a few interesting characters so far.”
“That sounds lovely ” he grunts, his words dripping with sarcasm and a scowl still on his face.
Kaeya chuckles, and looks ready to finally leave Diluc alone. “Always such a downer” he mutters, in a tone that sounds suspiciously fond.
Diluc doesn’t have time to let his mind linger on it though, because right at that moment he spots someone he’d hoped to never see again.
He quickly takes a step to the right, hiding behind Kaeya. He does a pretty good job at acting nonchalant about it; or at least, he thinks he does.
He’s quickly proven wrong when Kaeya turns to him again, raising his eyebrow.
Diluc shrugs, looking away in hopes of avoiding any further questions.
But apparently, today is just not his day, because his gaze catches the ginger’s eyes he’d been trying to avoid.
(The ginger who had, for some reason, been already looking his way, his brain unhelpfully adds).
It’s a split second, but the time it takes Diluc for his eyes to widen and hurriedly look away is enough for Kaeya to catch onto the exchange, a mischievous grin stretching across his face and replacing his previously confused expression.
He opens his mouth, about to say something, and at the same time Diluc sees that Fatui scum excuse of a human start to make his way towards them out of the corner of his eye.
Oh fuck no.
He decides, then, that he only has one option left: he flees .
Diluc walks past Kaeya as fast as he can without making it obvious he’s trying to escape, shouldering through an endless crowd of people.
And he thinks he’s almost made it, can see the door that leads to the outside and hopefully freedom , when someone grabs his shoulder and stops him in his tracks.
He turns around, an insult on the tip of his tongue, but immediately relaxes as he sees Jean.
“I’m so glad you made it” she greets him, offering him her usual smile.
“Ah” he replies, his eyes distracted in scanning the crowd. “Well, I was just about to leave, actually.”
Jean’s smile falls a little, but her eyes are understanding. She knows him well enough to know he’s never liked crowds, especially in events like this one. He’s thankful he doesn’t need to explain the real reason he’s trying to escape.
“You showed up, that’s already more than usual” she laughs, and he can’t help but smile a little. If there’s one person in this world he would give up a peaceful evening for, it’s definitely Jean.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer” he adds.
Jean shakes her head, squeezing his shoulder. She’s about to add something else, but a voice cuts her off, and all of Diluc’s blood drains from his face.
“Good evening to you all, mind if I join?”
Jean drops her hand from his shoulder, her usual polite smile immediately showing on her face. “Not at all” she says.
A familiar ginger then appears in front of them, and Diluc mentally curses every Archon he can think of.
The guy (he refuses to call him by his name) catches his eyes and fucking smirks, and Diluc glares at him, trying to communicate as much burning rage as humanly possible.
For some reason, that just seems to fire him up more.
Jean starts talking about some official business, but Diluc mostly tunes the conversation out, trying to glare as much as possible while thinking of a good excuse to leave without looking like he actively wants to.
He doesn’t know when this became a competition, but leaving would mean letting that Fatui scum excuse of a human win, and Diluc is not about to do that.
At some point, some official from the knights’ ranks comes up to them and steals Jean away— Diluc doesn’t know whether to be grateful or not.
She sends him an apologetic look, and he tries to send her a reassuring one back, although it likely falls flat.
She leaves with a polite “Pleasure to meet you”, and as soon as she’s gone, the tension in the air snaps.
“Fancy seeing you here, Master Diluc” the Harbinger says, his smile turning into a smirk.
“Leave me alone , Fatui scum” Diluc snaps, trying to inject as much venom as possible in his words.
He could leave; he could turn around, walk out the door, and possibly never see this man again.
He doesn’t.
“I have a name, you know” the other replies, “Childe would be preferred over ‘Fatui scum’”
“As if I owe you anything, ” Diluc spits out, and Childe just grins wider.
Diluc is beginning to think the fucker enjoys this.
“Why do you keep following me?” he asks, crossing his arms.
Childe completely ignores the question, instead flicking the hem of his coat. “I like the new outfit” he says, “much better than that old rusty coat”
Diluc’s ears go red, and he mentally slaps his past self for having tied his hair in a ponytail.
He’d decided to try to dress a little better for this event, and a treacherous part of his brain wants to pump his fist in the air, like this is some sort of victory. The logical part shuts it up, because why would a compliment from this guy even matter.
“Fuck off” is all his useless brain can come up with, and he decides that he really has hit rock bottom.
Childe seems even more amused, his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes getting their stupidly endaring glint.
Diluc is so disappointed in himself.
“You can stop pretending you hate me now” Childe adds, coming closer. “You’re a really bad liar”
“I hope you die” Diluc spits out, and decides this is an infinitely better response than ‘fuck off’. His thoughts are vaguely fuzzy— it has nothing to do with how close Childe is, not at all.
( He smells nice, his brain unhelpfully adds, and Diluc thinks this might single-handedly be the worst thing that has ever happened to him.)
Childe laughs, grabbing his arm and squeezing it, before letting go.
“It’s always so lovely talking to you, Master Diluc”
Then he’s gone, and Diluc is embarrassingly aware of how hot his face and neck feel.
Kaeya comes up to him a little later, a glass of wine in his hand.
“So,” he snickers, “gingers, huh?”
He gets a smack in response.
Childe comes around the tavern a few more times, and soon it becomes a habit.
Diluc won’t admit he’s growing on him.
Childe’s plan of flirting for fun is quickly backfiring on him, because how can he not catch feelings for Diluc.
Venti is delighted to finally have some drama going on in Mondstadt— archons, the things he has to do to find some entertainment here.
“Ugh” Childe groans, head on Diluc’s lap as they sit under one of the trees right outside Dawn Winery.
“Can you believe the nerve they have? Easy to blame everything on the youngest Harbinger. Sometimes I hate my job.”
Diluc hums, turning a page on the book he’s reading.
It’s been a few months since their first meeting and, well.
Diluc is still deeply disappointed in what is, apparently, his taste in men. He’s also happier than he’s been in a very long time, so he decides the disappointment is worth it.
“And, like, it’s not that I don’t try hard, y'know? But all of them are like, super badass and evil and unhinged and it’s like, they forget I’m just as passionate about this job.”
“I hate your job,” Diluc replies, and Childe laughs a little.
“That can’t really be helped,” he says. “But like, the other day Scaramouche-”
He starts talking again, and Diluc listens, mostly just pretending to be reading the book in his hand.
His voice is nice , he thinks, running a hand through Childe's hair.
Quiet moments like these are rare, especially since Childe is frequently away, so Diluc tries to commit to memory every little thing: the way his eyes come alive whenever he’s telling a story, the little pout his mouth forms whenever he’s saying something that upsets him but refuses to admit so and the soft smile on his face whenever he mentions his family.
“I’m hungry” Childe says, snapping him out of his daze, and Diluc sighs, closing his book.
“You’re so whiny all the time” he says, rolling his eyes all the while, but his tone is more fond than anything else.
“You love it” Childe replies, and Diluc looks away, embarrassed.
“Whatever.”
He gets up then, offering Childe a hand.
“Come one, let’s go get something to eat”
Childe smiles, softer than his usual grin, and takes his hand, hoisting himself up.
Their hands stay intertwined.