A/N: For the Oasis Rarepair zine! Well, this ship was a rarepair when I first wrote this fic XD Which tells you just long this has been buried in my to post folder.
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Jean was heavy. Not in the way a real person was, all bones and flesh and sinew, but in the way a rock was, a concentrated gravity that sank to the bottom of a lake. Diluc adjusted his grip on her legs, keeping his back angled so she wouldn’t slip off and fall. Her arms were looped too loosely over his shoulders to be of any help if she tipped over.
He wasn’t sure what he’d call their relationship. They had too much history to be mere acquaintances and too much distance to be good friends. Whatever word fit, it certainly wasn’t one where he expected to carry her across Mondstadt in the dusk.
Jean’s head lolled, her soft hair brushing his neck, and Diluc fought the urge to stiffen. They had never been this close, not even before. He had never let it happen. He certainly would never let it happen again, not when it sent a shiver down his spine, not when his neck still tingled from the contact.
As though sensing his discomfort, Jean stirred. Her head slowly rose, her hands weakly grasping his shoulders. “Master Diluc?” she murmured, voice still husky from sleep.
She was too close to his ear. Diluc tightened his grip in anticipation. “Yes?”
“You’re—” Her breath hitched, and Jean jolted straight up as she realized her position. For a precarious moment, he wasn’t sure if they could both stay upright, but then her training kicked in and she leaned forward before they fell. Her nails dug into his shoulder like little daggers as she quickly took in the situation. “What—where—how—?”
“You collapsed on patrol,” Diluc answered slowly, plodding forward now that she’d regained her balance. A cool evening breeze blew, ruffling his hair. Small lights lit up the path to Mondstadt, their glow only getting brighter as the sun slowly set. “Again.”
“That…” He didn’t have to look to know that she was chewing her lip, her expression a cross between embarrassed and ashamed. “Sorry.”
Diluc shrugged. At least they weren’t far from the city. He could just make out the bridge’s outline from where they were. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not.” Jean wiggled, pulling back. With her sense of decorum and pride, he wasn’t surprised her first instinct was to hop off. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I can walk the rest of the way.”
He tightened his grip in response, forcing her to hold his shoulders lest she fell off. “It’s fine,” Diluc repeated.
“But—”
Forgetting how close they were, he shot her a sharp look over his shoulder. Even in the late light, the sun’s rays painting the sky a soft purple, he could make out the bags under her eyes, the tired droop of her smile, the soft red blush of her fever. Her eyes met his and Diluc quickly turned back. “You’re sick. I’ll carry you the rest of the way.” Sensing she was about to argue, he added, “Jean.”
She stiffened. It was unfair, he knew. Diluc had seen the way Jean looked at him when she thought nobody was looking, the way she said his name, the way she leaned closer when he spoke. He was many things, but blind wasn’t one of them.
But if saying her name was enough to make her listen, to make her stay still, then he didn’t mind playing dirty.
Jean sighed. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his back. Even through the thick material, he could feel her heat, as though her vision was pyro and not his. Softly, she uttered, “Sorry. Thank you.”
He kept his gaze firmly on the path. “No need.”
“Still.” She sighed again, her breath tickling his neck. “Sorry.”
Diluc clicked his tongue. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll stop working so hard you faint.”
By now, it was common knowledge in Mondstadt. Jean was a great fighter. Jean was the acting grand master. Jean overworked herself on a daily basis. Kaeya would sometimes drop into the bar and leave hints about Jean’s well-being, his sharp eye on Diluc’s the entire time.
Knowing his former friend, this was yet another one of Kaeya’s games. The worst part was how it worked every time—no matter how composed Diluc forced himself to stay, no matter how blank his poker face, Kaeya’s eye would crinkle, his lips pulling back into a sly smirk, and he’d leave looking like a cat that caught the canary.
Perhaps he should look into putting a ‘no Kaeya’ sign on his door.
Jean chuckled, light and airy and utterly oblivious to his thoughts. Wryly, she asked, “Are you sure you should say that?”
He grunted, not arguing the point. “I’ve never fainted.”
“No, I suppose you haven’t.” There was a soft rustle as she shifted on his back, her hands still gripping his shoulders lightly. “Barbara says the same thing.”
Considering how much her sister loved her, Diluc wasn’t surprised. The deaconess always looked worried whenever she left the Knights’ headquarters. “Then listen to her.”
“I’ll try, but…” Jean’s fingers dug into his skin. “No promises.”
He stopped walking. Ignoring their proximity, he looked over his shoulder. “Why?”
Jean smiled tiredly. “You remember how it is. There’s too much work and not enough hands. I…I can’t let our people down. Not when they trust us so much. I can’t…”
Let their faith shatter like yours did. Diluc could hear the unspoken words, feel them curl around him like a familiar cat. No wonder Jean was so heavy, he was feeling the weight of all of her expectations, of all the dreams and hopes pinned on her.
“You’re just one person,” he replied. That had nothing to do with you.
Jean hadn’t covered up his father’s death. Jean hadn’t clogged up the requests, delaying even the smallest task behind a mountain of red tape and paperwork. Jean hadn’t accepted loss as an acceptable result to a mission.
If there had been any reason to stay with the knights, it would have been her. But a single person wasn’t enough to stay and fight the corruption. Not even one he used to watch from the corner of his eye.
“I know. But…I thought…” Her voice grew softer, fainter. Diluc strained to hear it. “If I work hard enough, maybe you can rely on us again.”
His breath hitched. No matter how hard he craned, he couldn’t see Jean’s expression properly. And he wanted to, needed to—she had never been good at hiding her emotions. Even without asking a question, he’d find the answer on her face.
“It won’t make up for what happened but…” She closed her eyes, slumping forward. Her chin rested on his shoulder, her cheek brushing his neck. “I want to ease your mind. If only a little.”
Her breathing evened out, her fever finally forcing her aching body to rest. Diluc, however, couldn’t move, still frozen by the sudden confession.
Jean had been a workaholic since they were kids. Whether it had been training, schoolwork, or even just a children’s game, she had always put in more effort than was necessary. When Diluc had seen how seriously she’d taken her position as Acting Grand Master, he hadn’t thought of it beyond her usual behaviour.
But the woman collapsed on his back wasn’t pushing herself for any of her usual reasons. No, it had been out of an unwarranted guilt. A sense of duty.
And now that he had heard it, he couldn’t unhear it. Diluc gritted his teeth. “Why are you always like this?”
There was no response. Her hair tickled his skin as she slept. Diluc sighed as he glanced up at the starry sky—the night had finally fallen, leaving behind only the darkness of the universe.
Leaving behind only the light of the universe, the millions of stars and galaxies twinkling down on him.
Diluc couldn’t return to the knights. That was beyond him now. But he could do other, smaller things. Ease her burden, if only a little—make it so she didn’t have to patrol as much as she did, make it so that when she did, there was no reason for her to collapse.
Perhaps he could talk to Rosaria about it later. And Kaeya. As loath as he was to admit it, they had a good scope of the problems in Mondstadt.
For now, though, he continued to plod home, Jean nestled safely on his back. They hadn’t been this close in ages. Diluc wasn’t sure if they’d ever be this close again. His pace slowed slightly as he shifted her to a more secure position.
Maybe tonight he’d take the long route home. Just this once.
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