Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Varka's days were always long and busy. Of course it makes sense, given his title of "Grandmaster"; it's his duty afterall to check on his fellow knights, to make reports of things that have occured, to review reports of other's own objectives. Not to mention, the battlefield calls his name more often than not— the siren song of glory and protecting his people lures him in so easily. It's great that this still keeps up, even after the long expedition in Nod-Krai, where he feared that maybe, just maybe he wouldn't be able to acclimate back to his peaceful home.

He couldn't have been more wrong. He was thankful for it, truly, a busy mind is a happy mind in his eyes afterall—

There was just one problem. Could he even call it a problem? Maybe it was more of a minor inconvenience, if anything.

And yes, it has to do with his current predicament—

He was currently trapped in a hole. Not even the first time, and unfortunately, he recognizes it will never be the last.

He's made his peace with that. Afterall, if it's not him taking the brunt of such traps, there could come a day where the perpetrator targets someone else as the object of their fascination— Varka shivers at the thought. Things would get worse.

Case in point; He fell into a hole that had it's bottom littered with loose twigs and ripped up rose plants. Now at least he can take a blow like this, for a measly thorn or six and ten twigs jabbing into him was a walk in the park for his body. But if someone like Noelle or Razor fell in? Ugh, his heart wouldn't take it!

So, it's better for everyone, for Mondstadt's sake, and perhaps even Lord Barbatos himself, that Varka takes the hit of such mischief. No one else would get hurt, and it has the added bonus of always ending the same.

It's always the same person laying the traps. The same person seeking him out in such bizarre ways.

"Lohen!" He calls out from the hole, after he's stood up, after he's brushed off the dirt and twigs on his uniform, gazing up into Mondstadt's skies to see clouds beginning to roll in.

The scent of peppermint hits his nose— strong, like always, to the point where it's downright nauseating rather than soothing like it should be. Over the edge of the hole, a tuft of green hair pops up.

"Hmmmm?" Lohen singsongs from the surface of the land, as he raises his head to take a good look at his prey in the hole. "Did you need something, Grandmaster?"

Oh for the love of—

"Kind of, yeah!" Varka drags a hand down his face in exasperation, struggling to not let himself sound tired and annoyed. It's been a long day, afterall, but no one needs to know that even the Grandmaster, the one who never falls, needs plenty of rest too like everyone else. "Any reason why there's a hole right here?"

The first step to handling Lohen is rather simple: Never ever go in guns blazing and accusing him of something he has absolutely done. It's not as amusing to him, which on paper, should be a good thing… But that leads to more headaches in the long-run. Of course, Varka learned this the hard way with taking Lohen's stone-cold admittance to his handywork at face value; It simply led to Lohen sneaking into his tent— in the middle of the night, mind you! — to stare at him sleeping. For what reason?

…Well, Varka never really asked. But, he always had a feeling it was because he didn't pretend that Lohen didn't do anything earlier.

"Who knows?" Lohen plays the role of a confused outsider well, too well even, as he tilts his head in a way that reminds Varka of how the little pups around Mondstadt stare up at him as their way of saying "we can't understand you, mister!". Lohen moves to peer his head a little into the hole, the smile on his lips being oh-so telling of his satisfaction with his new project. "Looks like you got into a little predicament?"

"More like a lotta predicament," Varka huffs, crossing his arms. It takes everything in him to not flinch at the scent coming off of Lohen in waves. Something so strong that promises so much trouble.

Rule two of handling Lohen: If he smells of peppermint to the point that it's overwhelming, always defuse the situation as fast and calmly as possible. Under no circumstances should someone give Lohen any openings while he's in such a state.

"Need a hand?" Lohen looks down at him as a smile spreads across his face. Nothing that compliments his soft features, of course not, it's sharp, animalistic, as if he's ready to dig his teeth into Varka's flesh and tear—

"No thanks, I'm good!" In one swift move, Varka crouches his legs and calls upon anemo, effectively launching him in the air high enough to get out of the hole and land on the ground as smooth as possible. Of course, there's a little pang of pain in his knees— something that came with age, no doubt— yet whatever he feels, he doesn't dare show to Lohen. Not while he's like this.

"Wow, Grandmaster," Lohen gives a slow applause, his face no longer holding the gaze of a predator, but now pure indifference, "nicely done, getting out of that hole."

"Yep," Varka rolls his shoulder, "there's never something I can't handle, you know." When he gets the ache out of his shoulder, he glances at Lohen from the corner of his eyes. "Especially not another Alpha."

Lohen blinks, once, twice, three times, before breaking out into a grin.

Of course, this was the root of today's trap. The younger Alpha always had a knack for… violence, for lack of a better term. It was like he lived for the adrenaline rush of fighting, if how he guarded their keep during the expedition was anything to go by. It led to Lohen triggering his ruts earlier than usual, though; Not only that, but they happened way too frequently. Much more than a common alpha would experience, but it's something he faced head on, rather than complain about.

If it was triggered by the adrenaline of battle, then it was no problem. He would continue fighting through it— if he had to rest, he would, of course he would; Then he would get up the moment his eyes opened, and go on the hunt to get his blood pumping for the next few days. But what happens when he can't get his rush?

Well. Varka did just escape a trap set by a bothered alpha, after all.

"Hmm," Lohen hums, seemingly in agreeance, "any words you'd give to the perpetrator?"

"That he'd better knock it off," Varka decides to look at him from the corner of his eye, "I don't have time to keep entertaining this."

The scent of peppermint grows stronger in response. Then Varka feels it— a brush of something against his arm—

"Oh, no you don't!"

As much as Varka hates having to keep his guard up, Lohen really leaves him with no choice. He quickly moves to catch Lohen's arm in a grip, just as the other's hand reaches to grab at his dagger— where it's hiding spot always changes on Lohen's body— and try to swing at Varka. Lohen bares his teeth, as his eyebrows furrow and lets out a hiss, that mint scent coming onto Varka stronger and stronger.

Dammit, this really leaves him with no other choice, huh?

He grips onto Lohen even tighter, drawing a slight gasp.

"Enough," Varka growls out, his canines prominent, as his glands release to let out his own scent. It takes a few moments, but Lohen relaxes his body, completely withdrawing and squirming away from Varka's grip. Of course, Varka isn't heartless, and lets him go without protest.

"Archons," Lohen looks at him with a grimace, covering his nose and mouth, "you reek as ever, Grandmaster."

"I wouldn't have to if someone didn't keep trying to ambush me!" Varka groans, exasperated not with Lohen himself, but rather the absurdity of all his antics and being forced to use control. "If I say it's orders to break that habit of yours, would you do it?"

For a brief moment, Lohen almost considers it. He looks lost in thought, looking Varka up and down frankly one too many times, before breaking into a smile that's found a permanent spot in the Grandmaster's mind.

"Absolutely not."

Worth a shot.

As Varka heaves out a sigh at the response, Lohen's already turned on his heel, beginning to walk his way back to the bustling streets of Mondstadt. His scent is a warning to all those around him to back away, but not to Varka; Never to him, really, as he starts a light jog to catch up when he realizes the other's leaving him behind.

"Take those suppressants of yours," Varka scolds, as he walks by the rascal's side, "and let's head out for drinks, yeah?"

Lohen huffs at the idea. "No thank you," he walks a little faster, his hand reaching for some sort of weapon on his body— Varka was sure of it. "Be at the bar with a bunch of other alphas stinking it up? No thanks."

"I don't let it get to me, you know," Varka frowns, catching up once more. "When you're having fun with friends, you can barely smell anyone else but the people you care for, I'll have you know."

"You're still stinking up the air," Lohen groans, clasping his nose again and now sprinting away. "I'm not doing it! You can't make me!"

"Lohen, come on!" Varka gives chase now. "Take those suppressants! I keep telling you that if you keep at it, you're just gonna keep triggering your rut too early!"

Varka steps on something strange in his run.

He looks down.

His foot is right on a perfectly tied rope.

He tries to look up, to see if Lohen was still running. He wasn't. He stood off in the distance, with a delighted grin.

"For the love of—!"

It's a wonder who doesn't hear the Grandmaster yelping in the outskirts of Mondstadt.

"Another trap I take it?"

Varka throws his whole mug back as Rosaria asks the question, dandelion wine almost washing away his woes. He slams the mug on the table— much to Diluc's disdain, judging from the side eye he gives to their group— and lets out a groan.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do with him," he mutters, leaning his head into his hands. "He can't keep taking his rut out on me like this!"

To his left, Mika chokes on his drink, caught offguard by Varka's words.

"That's what this is all about?" He asked, his voice laced with pure confusion. "He does that because of his rut?"

"Duh," Varka groans, "come on, Mika! You spend plenty of time with him! Don't tell me you don't even notice when his scent gets stronger?!"

Mika purses his lips, setting his own mug of juice down. "I think… I suppose I have? I kind of always thought he smelled really strong… well, all the time! He's got a really unique scent, you can't really miss him, so I'd say—"

"He didn't think about it too much," Rosaria cuts him off, taking a swig of her beer. Her side of the table oozed with her smoky scent, yet subtle enough that those not near the table could smell it. Mika pouts in response, all in his nature to not argue about it too much. Ah, maybe Varka can have a chat with him about that another day…

Before Varka loses himself in those thoughts, those that are far away from the topic at hand— a mug slams on the table, with it's holder letting out the happiest sigh he's ever heard from it.

"Well, in my opinion," Eula hums, her cheeks flushed a cherry red, "Lohen certainly enjoys showing off his scent. He's tried it with me numerous times as an act of provocation, I'll have you know!"

"Really now?" Varka raises an eyebrow— Eula always was fun like this, not having a sense for her usual walls and saying whatever comes to mind. "What happened when he finally realized what you were?"

"…S'not that exciting," the light haired woman frowns, staring at the bottom of her now empty mug. "He's simply stopped approaching me. Another round here, Diluc!" She calls, not even bothering to look at how Diluc lets out a groan at her demand.

"I have a similar story," Rosaria murmurs. "He kept begging for a fight and I wouldn't budge. He gave up after a week."

A frown tugs at Varka's mouth. Lohen only bothered Rosaria for a week? Eula for… well, he didn't know the exact estimate, and it's not like he can get an answer now. Seemingly, Lohen was aware of Mika being a beta from the start, and thus hadn't pester him in… that way, supposedly? Despite everyone at the table being varying levels of drunk, Varka knows he's been quiet long enough for everyone to start staring at him.

"He's been doing this to me for years." He realizes, as Diluc comes near the table to hand off the mug to Eula. A dire mistake, as Varka's words make Eula drop her fresh new mug of beer out of shock— splattering all over the table, her lap, with even Diluc remaining in the splash zone; Much to the poor man's vocalized annoyance, marching off in a huff. Rosaria only stares at Varka with wide eyes and her mouth as straight as it's always been, before she looks over to Mika.

"…And you're not surprised because…?" She gestures with her hand— her act of kindness of the day being to let Mika speak for himself.

"Oh, well. I can vouch for it? This was happening a lot during the expedition!" Mika raises his hands in defense, before turning his attention back to Varka. "But now that you mention it, I guess it is a little strange that Lohen's been… fixated on you for so long. I wonder why that is?"

"Dunno," Varka sighs, "but it's best for me to not provoke him by asking. That's only gonna lead to more trouble."

Rosaria hums.

"You mean like how you release your glands when he provokes you?" She asks. Varka's brows furrow.

"That's not asking for trouble."

"Yes it is. You're reacting to him. He wants that."

"He clearly just wants a fight! I don't fight him! It's only a warning!"

"I understand that, but releasing your glands to the point where everyone can still smell you for hours is just as provocative to him. That's why he keeps coming back."

"…I don't smell that strong."

"I enjoy your scent, Grandmaster," Eula slurs, keeping her head up in her hands now as Diluc angrily wipes down the floor near her. "I've always been fond of the smell of fresh cut grass. It's rather comforting!"

Varka just stares at Rosaria.

"Oh Archons," she groans into her hands, "you'll wake up hungover and not remember this conversation, I'm not telling Amber you said that." As she says that, she slides a few mora over to Mika. "Do me a favor and observe Lohen, if you could. I have a point to prove to Dad over here."

Mika blinks.

"…Dad?" He asks.

Rosaria groans and mumbles something about the alcohol.

Varka laughs, briefly forgetting about the pressure put on his shoulders.

Eula laughs, somehow louder.

Diluc promptly kicks them out for the night.

The next two days are rather mundane for Varka.

There is no activity from Lohen, who opts to set off to the outskirts of town to take care of any roaming monsters. Of course, there is concern for how Lohen gets; The lad gets a kick out of flaunting his scent in conflict, if it means he'll be the one standing tall after it ends. Yet his bravado was not all talk— never is all talk, as he always returns with a smile and a detailed report of proof that nothing escaped him.

It's wishful thinking, but Varka hopes that he's started to take suppressants. More than likely, it will never happen, but it's easy to see how it can do more good for Lohen rather than harm. The guy wouldn't even need to stop seeking out a fight, he just needs to not do it in rut. Who knows what he could possibly attract?

Frankly, Varka wouldn't even know where to begin with confronting him on the matter either. The more he thought about it, Rosaria did have a point. Lohen would often try to poke and prode at him until he was forced to bear his fangs, but it still didn't make sense. Was there anything to gain from that? Was it Lohen trying to get a rut-induced challenge out of him?

Varka hasn't fought in rut. Even in his days of reckless youth, he never did something that stupid. But from all he knew about Lohen, the other loved to seize victory— even in the most unconventional manners possible. Maybe Lohen did want a fight with the both of them in rut, just to see if there was something to prove.

He hoped that wasn't the case. Deep down, he knew it had to be.

It's not shocking that another trap greets Varka today. Not in the usual way, though. When he opens his eyes, the sun is shining incredibly bright through his windows— the tell-tale sign of it now being midday. If he had half a mind that wasn't a bit hungover— another fun night of drinks with his knights had him occupied— he'd worry about waking up so late.

He realizes that something— no, someone is in his room.

That cloying, familiar scent of peppermint makes him wide awake.

"How did you get into my house."

He didn't even bother to phrase it like the question it was. Varka was simply too astonished at the sight before him— or, well, above him.

The menace before him smiles slightly, the kind where if they smiled any wider, it could truly be something radiant. Those smiles were always hypnotic, and of course, every other one that Lohen offers is all the same.

Yet at the same time, something was… off.

Lohen seemed too happy to be breaking and entering his home. Ecstatic, even. Which is weird, because usually when he shows his excitement like this, that means—

"L-Lohen, give me back my book!"

Now Mika's barreling through his room, trying to jump for the book in Lohen's hands. But the other gracefully dodges out of the way, moving to hop right on Varka's bed. Well really, he lands right on Varka's legs, to be specific— much to the older man's agony, as he grunts at the sudden weight.

"Oh Grandmaster," Lohen sing-songs, one hand holding the book, other extended behind him to keep a hold on Mika's shirt and not let him move any closer. He happily swings his legs, yet Varka can feel his anger coming off in waves. "Just whatever am I to do with you?"

"…I should be asking you that," Varka groans, shooing at Lohen with his hand. For all his eccentricities, the younger man was still a loyal knight— moving to stand at the side of the bed once more. "Is there something wrong, Lohen?"

"Call off Rosaria looking into me, please." Lohen says coolly, his tone completely neutral. "That doesn't make our games fun."

"I didn't ask Rosaria to do anything. Can you please let go of Mika?" And it is the truth, as drunk as Varka was last night, he had no such memory of that being his request. Nor did he think Rosaria would remember it too, for that matter… But Mika would remember, wouldn't he? Varka would have to make a note later to inform Mika to not uphold drunken promises.

Lohen stares at him, as his hand releases Mika's now crinkled shirt, the blonde scurrying out of the room to avoid this conflict. Varka groans— he'll definitely have to apologize to the boy later. Yet for now, he tries to not get sucked into the depths of the other man's dark eyes— but he knows it's a fruitless effort. Not when the reds of his eyes shine the brightest, and—

Wait, since when did he care so much about Lohen's eyes?

Lohen coughs into his hand, breaking their eye contact. That was… That was also a bit weird, too. Lohen always seemed to enjoy staring as long as possible until whoever the unlucky fellow was would run off. He never broke contact first. Is he—

"I know what you're thinking," Lohen's voice cuts through his thoughts, as if offering pure clarity to his mind. "I'm alright. Your room's nauseating though, Grandmaster."

Right. Lohen never took his advice. He was absolutely in rut now.

That smug grin was on Lohen's lips again. Excuse Varka for worrying about his comrades, then. In that moment, the younger of the two released his pheromones more, tugging at the collar snug around his neck. Peppermint rolls off in waves stronger than ever, but now there's hints of cecilia— something so familiar, and so like home, and something sweeter like… lavender melon? They all blended together well, surprisingly, and—

Focus. Focus.

Varka raises a hand to his face, covering his nostrils. Of course this encounter started with Lohen trying to provoke him awake; The man intended to ended it as such as well.

"You should have been taking your rut suppressants, Vice-Captain," he tries to bite back a growl, as the scent only grows stronger, "I have no interest in fighting you."

"That's a shame then, Grandmaster," Lohen hums not a single remorseful note, leaning over the bed to truly stare into Varka's eyes, "because that's what I need."

Sometimes, a third step may be required for handling the young Alpha.

It's simple, really: Evade. Evade. Evade.

Varka rolls up and out of bed from the other side, immediately leaping toward the door. Lohen was always one to be fast on his feet, though; He darts to chase after Varka, even opting to use the bed as a stepping stone— but maybe a spring is more fitting, using it to gain some height and grip onto Varka's back.

"Ack— Hey!" The older of the two grabs at him immediately, trying to pull at him as fast as possible. The Vice-Captain is always cruel and crude in his maneuvers, weaponizing his own small body for his advantage. For as big and wide Varka was, Lohen was a lithe little thing, finding it easy to dodge the other's grabs.

This whole situation was absurd, made even worse how Varka was stuck in loungewear. Lohen was adorned in his uniform, which made it almost certain that even if Varka threw off one weapon from his body, there would at least still be five more hidden.

Lohen grabs at his shoulder, digging his heel into his back to lift higher. His small hands claw at the plain shirt, trying to pull, rip, tear it away.

Oh. Oh no. He wouldn't.

…If he had a clearer mind, that was—!

Lohen's fangs had barely protracted when Varka manages to shove him off. The younger doesn't make a sound of pain or cry— never, ever, does he do such a thing— as he hits the ground. The peppermint as strong as ever, with the scent of cecilias crashing in waves as well. It's no longer akin to a passing scent carried in the winds; now reminiscent of maybe having your head shoved into a bouquet full of them.

The sweet scent of fruit was gone too. Lohen was angry.

But if Lohen was angry, then Varka was downright irritated. He moves to pin the younger down, holding him by the wrists. Lohen growls, writhes, hisses, wriggles— anything to get out of his grasp. Varka's hold doesn't budge, it never does, why would it? Afterall, he's the Grandmaster of the Knights— it would have to take a thousand enemies to take him down. Lohen could never do a thing to him.

And he knows that upsets Lohen further, for reasons that Varka may never learn to know. He always grows a little more distant when he tries to pry into Lohen's past— to know him, to understand him, but Lohen's always liked his walls.

"Let go, let go of me!" Lohen thrashes, "I've had it!"

There's nothing but peppermint and cecilia in the air. The Grandmaster grips Lohen's wrists tighter.

"Just— Just calm down," Varka tries to breathe— a fool's errand, given that every breath he takes is just taking in a little more of Lohen's scent. He feels like he's losing himself. He doesn't want to lose himself. Not like this. Not when Lohen's in such a vulnerable position. "Vice-Captain, you have to listen—"

"No, no, no!" Lohen screeches. He tries kicking his legs up, anything to break free. His pheromones are nauseating now, with Varka trying to hold his breath in.

Lohen—

Lohen has never acted like this in Varka's life.

Varka tries to take another breath again. He feels his fangs come out instead.

"Let go of me, Varka!"

Something snaps.

For a brief few seconds, everything goes black. As if he lost control of his own body, the only thing that reminds him that he's still present was those damned pheromones.

And then there was no peppermint anymore. Not as if it became something more faint— it was evaporated completely. The cecilias weren't akin to a bouquet full of them, or the nearby passing wind. It was all gone.

The scent of grass overwhelms the room. It's not just that either— the smooth scent of dandelions and rich wine, the warm odor of cinnamon and apples—

Varka forces himself back into control.

He's close; Too close to a frail neck, his teeth dragging along pale flesh. Never once piercing— Archons, he hopes he didn't pierce the flesh— only pressing. Threatening, even. Lohen's uniform is completely disheveled at the top, torn open with buttons popped off, the little capelet thrown… somewhere?

He lifts his head— has to lift his head, because Lohen's not speaking, not saying anything to him. He tries to look into Lohen's eyes.

Darkness.

Pure, utter darkness. As if all the crystalline red that decorated him so perfectly had vanished, leaving nothing but murky teal depths in the wake. There's no light in his eyes— frankly, there never is— but this was… this felt wrong. Like Lohen's focus swept away to a place unknown, the only proof of it being how he stares at— no.

He doesn't stare at Varka. He stares into him. As if he's trying to get hit in, like always. Yet Lohen expresses nothing else. He doesn't smile like he usually does. His teeth don't shine, his lips don't curl into a lopsided grin, no; only a thin, straight line is what he gives. His eyebrows don't furrow like how they usually are, they remain thin, and straight, and completely unmoving.

His mouth opens.

"I knew you couldn't do it," Lohen rasps, his voice grown hoarse, as if he screamed and cried. "You… You could never, do such a thing…"

The skin around Lohen's eyes are red. There's a tremble in his shoulders.

Varka's hands tremble.

Lohen stares at him like a corpse.

"Oh, oh, Barbatos," Varka panics. What else can he do? He's immediately off of the other, pushing to stand up tall despite numbness running it's course through his body. He reaches, hesitates, but then reaches again to help Lohen up from the wooden floors. By all miracles from the seven Archons, he does take his hand. That— That's good, it's a start. There's still a lot he has to do, especially to make up for something like this, but it's not impossible.

…Surely, it's not?

"Are you—" Varka starts, and instantly winces at his own words. Are you okay? isn't the wisest thing to ask, not when Lohen still stares at him so devoid of life. "I'm… I'm so, so sorry, Lohen. I don't know what came over me."

Lohen coughs, clearing his throat. He looks fragile, like this, and Varka knows he would hate that more than anything. It's one thing to appear as such to be unsuspecting to most; it's another to look like it because you are.

"…No, it's my fault," he groans, moving to cover his face, "but now you're really stinking the place up."

Right, right. His pheromones. He tries relaxing his glands, trying to adjust his body back to normal. It won't change the fact that the scent of grass and liquor is still so heavy in the air, but there's no need for him to keep adding to it. But as Varka tries to relax his body, he recognizes the feeling of sweat building up at the back of his neck, how his cheeks and forehead suddenly burn with intense heat.

Varka runs a hand through his hair.

"Dammit all," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose, "that just had to trigger my rut."

The small smile that Lohen gives doesn't reach his eyes.

"Well, I guess that means we're even, Grandmaster." His voice sounds… distant, like he's trying to keep himself grounded to here. Varka can't even blame him.

"…Listen, Lohen," He picks up the others cape from the floor, handing it to him, "just… just please rest up for the next few days. I want us to be able to talk about… this."

"There's nothing to talk about, Grandmaster," Lohen shakes his head, folding the torn-off cape, "I need to accept that I just pushed too much."

"Just because you did doesn't mean you deserve to cry over it."

It comes without Varka even considering his words. Lohen's breath hitches at the response, slivers of red beginning to return to his eyes. He looks away from Varka, no longer meeting his eyes, again with acting off. This time, Varka knows it's entirely his fault.

"It's an order, Vice-Captain," Varka gently pushes him toward the entrance of his home, trying to guide him out, "please rest up, then come to me when you're out of rut. Things… Things don't have to be this way."

He doesn't miss how Lohen's grip tightens on the blue fabric in his hands.

"…It's too late to be asking for a change now," Lohen grumbles, moving to step out of the front door, "you know that better than anyone else, don't you, Grandmaster?"

There was no clean and easy solution to this.

"…I know. I'm sorry." It takes everything in Varka's power to not keep following after him. "If I knew something like this could happen, I wouldn't have let this keep going."

Lohen stops in his tracks. He mumbles something, before taking off into the streets.

"You did almost did WHAT to Lohen?!"

Jean slams her hands on Varka's desk, staring daggers into him. He can't blame her for it, he really, really can't.

"…Yeah," Varka heaves, resting his head on his knuckles, nails digging into the fabric of his gloves. After that commotion, he opted to get dressed and run to the Knights' headquarters— of course, after taking some suppressants, for good measure. He couldn't have timed it even better; Apparently, it was Lohen that reported earlier that Varka would be coming into headquarters late today, which explains why he didn't wake up to someone bashing his door down. But then Mika had come back to headquarters, all in a tizzy, so by the time Varka actually showed up, Jean was ready to find him herself.

He tries to not shiver at the thought. But maybe her chasing him down is more preferable than this. Jean paces back and forth in front of his desk, muttering in pure anger. She's collected her cool well enough at this point that her voice never raises, but Varka knows exactly about what part she's most upset with.

"I'm not making excuses for myself," Varka speaks up, and Jean whips her head back at him, squinting. His hands twitch. "I mean… Ugh," he rubs his head, trying to relieve the building pressure of an incoming headache, "it's just—"

"Just what, Varka?" Jean asks, exasperated. "You nearly bit another Alpha on his scent gland— one of your subordinates, no less! This is serious!"

Varka sighs. There's no way he could get Jean to listen to his side, and it's not like he can blame her. Not after everything he's thrown onto her plate in the last few years.

"…It's complicated," he finally decides as his answer, "but I really… really didn't intend for this to happen, Jean. Honest."

Jean stares at him, long and hard. The silence between them is near deafening, and Varka can feel his hands growing clammy. After a beat, Jean finally sighs, before moving to pull a chair and sit across from him.

"You know I kept telling you that," she says. Her voice is softer, tired, completely drained of any anger she had moments prior. "You shouldn't have kept indulging his… habits."

"Yeah, I realized it too late," Varka tries to laugh, anything to lighten the mood. Yet it feels bitter on his mouth, an unnatural sound compared to how he usually is. "I got… I got a lot to think about."

Was this all a mistake? Should he have shut Lohen down the first time he set a trap? It's not like it was a secret that Lohen had a passion for his craft, should he have just let someone else become the target of Lohen's desires? Speaking of that, what did Lohen want from all of this? Did he really want Varka to lose his composure? What would he have gained from making Varka snap? Did he ever intend to make Varka lose it and go straight into rut? Or maybe, it was just Lohen trying to gain an upper hand once and for all in fights he never once won. But even then, his eyes…

Anything he wants to say about this; Everything that he could say about this, the words fail to leave Varka's lips.

"…Can you tell me what happened after?" Jean asks. Patient, calm— everything a leader should be.

"I told him we'd talk after his rut finished up, and he ran off," Varka answers. Shameful, embarassed with himself— everything a leader shouldn't be.

Jean lets out another sigh, yet shakes her head and stands from her chair.

"Do you think returned right to his home?" She looks deep in thought, with her hand pressed to her chin. "Or do you think he ran off to fight some hilichurls?"

Varka blinks, trying to shake off his self-inflicted shame.

"Are… Are we looking for him?" Varka asks. "Jean, I really don't think I should—"

"I'm not saying it's mandatory for you and him to meet at once," she's quick to cut him off, crossing her arms now. "But at the very least, let's make sure he's alright. You're the object of his fixation, Varka. So, I need your judgement. Would he rest if it was orders, or would he continue fighting through his rut anyway?"

His judgement, huh? Well then, if he knew Lohen—

"He'd definitely be trying to fight through his rut." He raises from his desk, letting the beat of courage thrum through his veins once more. "I'll go and look for him—"

"You will not."

Jean cuts him off as fast as possible. Varka lets out a choked noise in response, watching as the woman moves as swift as a breeze, her eyes settled on a stack of paperwork in the corner of the room.

Oh. Oh no, come on—!

"Grandmaster," Jean's voice is leveled, cool and collected, as she slams a gigantic stack of papers onto his desk, "I can't just let you run off during times like this. Please, get some work done."

Varka can't entirely argue with her. He probably wasn't in the right mind to go chasing after Lohen anyways, so he sits back down in his chair and miserably eyes the stack of papers before him.

"And uh, what about Lohen…?" He asks. Just making… sure, the other can be handled. That he can be safe.

"I'll send a team out looking for him," Jean nods her head, "I'll have him to take medical leave, and if necessary, I'll have him kept in the medical quarters until his heat has subsided."

"But do I have to—"

"A busy mind is a happy mind. At the very least, please do some paperwork as a distraction. Once you've finished up, I'll be more than happy to report on how we found Lohen and where he'll be located. That way, perhaps you can face him properly after, in the next few days…"

"What would I do without you?" Varka laughs, "seriously, consider taking my place, will ya?"

"You say that every time," Jean tsks, as she heads to the door to leave his office, "I won't fall for it this time."

"Yeah, yeah, but I really do mean it, y'know?"

Jean's hand wavers over the doorknob.

"You're… worried about him, aren't you?" She asks, not looking back at him. Varka glances at his hands— still clenched and as tight as ever.

"Of course I am," he answers, trying to relax his hands, "I intend to take full responsibility for the matter, Jean. I appreciate the concern."

Her body stiffens, her shoulders drawn tense, yet exits without another word.

The next two days are torturous, and it's, shockingly, not because of the mountain of paperwork he had to do.

…Maybe that's not true, but it really wasn't the source of Varka's misery this time. The repetition of reading and signing and reading and signing always stung, sure, but it couldn't have compared to the ache of just waiting.

Waiting if someone, anyone, could share anything about Lohen. He knew Jean ran an iron-tight ship, there was no way that anything about Lohen would slip through his door. And yet, whenever he'd hear people's voices drifting in the hall, he couldn't help but to strain his hearing just a bit to hear what they could be talking about. He would always hear knights passing by, all of various ranks, speaking of the mundane. Some would talk about the assignments they had to get done that day, or within the week. Others were making plans with one another, considering to meet up for drinks after patrols were done.

No one spoke of Lohen. No word of if he was found. Nothing on if something happened to him.

Varka might go mad. Maybe he is going mad, because he glued himself to his work. He writes out one final signature with a feather, places the paper on the stack, and sits back.

Only for a moment. Then he bolts out of the room. The door to his office slams against the wall, shocking whatever knights in the hall. Some let out surprised noises, others opt to only gape at the sight, and then—

Then there was Jean, exiting the medical quarters. Of course, she jolted a bit at the sound, but knew exactly who caused it. She whips her head right to Varka, right as the man made his move. Even when caught offguard, she doesn't let it affect her; Jean moves with easy strides, meeting Varka halfway in the main hall of the building.

"Grandmaster," she greets with a curt nod. Straight down to business with her, as per usual, but Varka really has no time for that now.

"Jean," he nods right back, shifting balance between both his legs, "I finished it all. Where is he?"

Jean makes a small noise at his declaration, moving past him and dart straight into the office. Even as fast as Varka is with turning around to meet her, she's going through the pile of papers at rapid pace— fast, but meticulous, it's in her nature to make sure everything's in order.

"You… actually got it all done," she breathes, as she checks the last paper. She warily eyes Varka, in not entirely unfounded disbelief. "Have you been in here for two days straight?"

"Sure have," Varka knocks his hand right against his heart, "somebody once told me a busy mind's a happy mind, I'll have you know!"

Jean sighs— she doesn't sound tired with him like usual, it sounds relieved, pleased at that.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll uphold my promise, knight's honor, of course." She then pauses, and sniffs at the air.

…Only to cover her nose.

"Grandmaster," she says, voice muffled behind her hand, "before anything else, please shower."

I can't smell that bad! Varka would like to argue, but Jean is quick to wave him off before anything else. He's already come so close to finally getting answers for what's occured with Lohen, surely he can just be filled in for a few seconds and then be on his way—

"If you want to see him, then please shower."

… So Varka showers! He gets into a new change of uniform, and then returns to headquarters with a hop to his step. Jean remains right outside the door to the medical quarters, ever diligent in keeping an eye out for him.

"Good, thank you Grandmaster," she says as he approaches, "Lohen's still recovering, the medics have been trying to keep strong smells out of the room as much as possible."

Varka stops.

"Recovering?" He repeats. Did Lohen get injured? Was this all his fault? No, scratch that, Lohen wouldn't be injured if it weren't for his reckless actions in his house. Yes, the man provoked him, but he depended on Varka, dammit— what sort of leader sinks his fangs into other alphas? His brain goes over so many what-ifs, ready to fear the worst, if not for Jean raising a hand.

"Yes, recovering," she says, "but he'll be fine. In fact, he should be released in a few hours, they're just observing him."

Varka lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he held back.

"He was found collapsed on the outskirts of Springvale," Jean explains, preparing Varka for the sight he'll walk in on. "He had very minor injuries on him, but reports from nearby civilians claim that he was fighting some sort of abyssal monster. I've sent teams out yesterday to try and track it down, but there's been no findings of it so far." Jean takes a breath, before moving on. "I've been talking with Lohen about what occured, in his own words, the monster only just got lucky."

It's such a typical answer from Lohen, Varka lets out a small chuckle.

"But otherwise, Lohen's in very high spirits." Jean wraps up, placing a hand on Varka's shoulder. "If it helps, I… I didn't pry about what happened between the two of you. I'm taking your word when you told me that this was your responsibility, Grandmaster."

Always like her to make sure he's on his toes. A smile comes to Varka's lips, as he gently holds onto her hand.

"I really appreciate it, Jean," his voice is filled with gratitude, "anything else I should know before I head in to see him?"

At that— Jean frowns. It's small, but noticeable.

"…I may just be getting in my own head," she says quietly, "but just in case, I couldn't help but feel… something's different, with Lohen. I don't know what though."

"Could just be that he's still recovering?" Varka offers. "You know how he gets. The guy would probably suffer more broken bones than actually lay down and recover."

"I suppose you're right," she sighs. "But still, if you notice something… please, let me know."

"You got it, Acting Grandmaster," Varka grins, "I'm ordering you to take at least a small break today. You've been doing a lot in these last few days."

Jean tries to wave it off, but she still walks off to the library after she bids him a farewell.

So now, Varka's left standing alone at the door to the medical quarters. Does Lohen know he's coming? Has he been thinking about him? Is there anything Lohen wants to say about what happened between the two of them? Would he even want to see Varka right now?

There was only one way to find out. Varka enters the room.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Calls the completely fine Lohen, lounging on the plain white bed like he owned it. He was out of uniform, dressed down in a loose shirt and pants, and for once— he wasn't choking up the room with his pheromones.

In fact, Varka couldn't even recognize what the room smelled like, currently. Certainly wasn't peppermint, but it didn't smell of melting candles and alcohol like usual, either. Maybe something was passing in the breeze that came through the window? But that didn't matter now, not when Lohen was here. He was back in the heart of Mondstadt. He was safe. He was safe.

"I was hearing that lady luck wasn't with you the other day," Varka tries to tease, but the words feel like lead in his mouth. "You doing alright?"

This wasn't right. He didn't deserve to address Lohen so casually, not after almost biting him; not after causing him to shed tears. Yet Lohen beckons him over with an unusual smile, at least not one Varka's ever seen.

When Lohen's happy, it's because he found his prey. Everytime that Varka has seen him smile, it was always because of this. He would find him in the wilderness of Nod-Krai, neck deep into battle with the Wild Hunt with the widest grin. His pupils would always be dilated, swallowed by the blood red and leaving no traces of the teal of his eyes. It wouldn't matter if he was covered in the other's— never his own— blood, if he was fighting with all his might, if he was harshly panting and trembling in excitement; This was what brought him joy, the very thing that drove him to continue seeking tomorrow for him and the people in his squadron.

He would bear all the hits and clashes with a dangerously thin yet wide smile, the very same he would give to Varka when laying out his traps.

Lohen doesn't smile like he's laid out a trap. The smile is small, one that takes Varka a few blinks to notice. The teal of his eyes shimmer brightly, so filling and… inviting. It's an incredibly gentle look on the rascal's face.

Varka… Varka doesn't know if it suits him.

"I'm doing just peachy, Grandmaster," Lohen sing-songs, sitting up as Varka comes closer. The older man tries pulling a chair to the side, but Lohen insistently pats the open spot on his bed. Maybe this was a trap? Maybe the experience made Lohen change tactics? Maybe he was so, so mad that this was his revenge: killing Varka with kindness that will never come again.

A trap it may be, yet Varka is drawn to indulgence like muscle memory. He sits at the side of the bed, the mattress dips a bit under his weight. Lohen scoots himself a little closer to Varka, leaning toward his shoulder with that concerningly pleasant smile.

"A little birdie told me you actually locked yourself up in your office these past few days? That true?"

Nothing escapes him. Varka sighs.

"Sure is," he rolls his shoulders, proving it with how it cracks just right, "had to do all of it if I wanted to see you again."

Lohen squints at him.

"Sentimental, as always?" The younger suggests. "Or… is it all guilt?"

Varka stares at him, long and hard. The room is quiet for a few moments. The only sound that could be heard was the wind chimes when the breeze passed through, as if Barbatos himself were trying to solve the awkward silence. Varka frankly expects for Lohen to flare out his scent, wanting to make it clear that he was upset, that Varka crossed a horrible line and should leave him alone for a little longer. Varka could get that, it's what was deserved.

It never comes. Lohen just laughs it off.

"You wound me, you know," he waves his hand, "thinking I can't handle a little threat."

Varka frowns.

"Don't do this," he pleads, reaching to hold Lohen's hand, "please… let me apologize. You were in tears. You can do whatever you want, I won't stop you. I can't ever put you in that position again. No exceptions. I shouldn't have lost myself to instinct. I'm sorry to have put you in such a place of distress, Lohen."

He knows Lohen. He's known him for many years, now. He knows the man will fight him on this, he always does when it comes to the matter of safety. It's not like Varka ever challenged him on it either— always indulgent, always allowing Lohen his own way. They were knights of Mondstadt, after all, freedom ran through their blood. Yet the matter of tears was something Varka refused to budge on. He knew Lohen wouldn't accept it, but there was no other way—

"…Okay."

"Huh?!" Varka chokes, staring wide-eyed at Lohen. The other raises an eyebrow, confused at Varka's outburst.

"What?" Lohen looks at him like he has two heads. "Heard you loud and clear, Grandmaster. No more provoking while in rut. Lesson learned."

…

"Are you sure you're alright?" Varka eyes him warily. "Have you been getting enough rest? No, wait— are you even still in rut?"

"Can you even smell me?" Lohen groans. Okay, definitely still him. He would be annoyed at such fretting. "Yes, I've been resting. No more rut, I think they got some meds in me to chase it out. I'm as right as rain. All's forgiven."

Varka wants to ask another are you sure? just to be safe, but the look on Lohen's face tells him he's already pushing it with being too apologetic.

"…Okay then, I'm glad things are settled."

He finally feels all the tension release from his body. Him and Lohen have made up, there was no need to worry about ruts for a while, and to top it off: No more paperwork! At least, for the next few days, but who needs to worry about that detail. Him and Lohen spend the afternoon idly chatting, Varka describes the horrors of paperwork, Lohen brags about the thrill of the chase that landed him here— of course, not talking about when he fell after.

It's peaceful. It's happy. The weight of guilt from the last few days is slowly washing itself away. Things will be okay.

"Ah, I should probably head out now," Varka stretches his legs out after two hours of talking, "I don't wanna keep you up. Especially if they plan on releasing you today."

Lohen smirks. "As if they could hold me back a little longer."

They laugh together at the thought. Yes, things are alright now.

But before Varka stands up, Lohen places a hand on his shoulder.

"Uh… Lohen?" Varka watches as the man leans in close. Something to whisper? A secret to share? So many things it could possibly be, but Varka never expects the sniff Lohen lets out, nearly pressed against his neck. It jolts Varka immediately, clasping a hand on his neck and staring at Lohen in pure bafflement. "What was that for?"

Lohen looks back and forth between his eyes and neck, before shrugging.

"I dunno. Just thought you smelled nice today, I guess."

Huh.