Diluc doesn’t drink alcohol, but when he sees Lumine looking exhausted at Angel’s Share, he silently pours her a drink and sits with her. It becomes their little tradition—sharing quiet nights together over non-alcoholic drinks.
The scent of oak and aged wine filled the dimly lit tavern, but Diluc barely noticed it anymore. Angel’s Share had long been his responsibility, though he felt little attachment to the drinks it served. He poured, he cleaned, he ensured the atmosphere remained orderly—but he never indulged himself. Alcohol dulled the senses, and he preferred to keep his sharp.
Which was why, when he noticed Lumine slumped over the counter, he frowned.
The Traveler was rarely one to let her exhaustion show. Even when she had fought for days, even when she had carried the weight of Teyvat on her shoulders, she faced it all with quiet determination. But tonight, under the dim lanterns, she looked... tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settled deep into one’s bones.
Wordlessly, Diluc reached for a bottle—not wine, but a special apple cider he kept for customers who didn’t drink. He poured it into a glass, its amber surface catching the light as he set it gently in front of her.
Lumine blinked, looking up at him with faint surprise. "I didn’t order anything."
"You look like you need it," he said simply.
She hesitated for a moment before wrapping her hands around the glass. The first sip was slow, deliberate. Then her shoulders slumped, and she let out a quiet sigh. "This is good."
Diluc merely nodded, cleaning an empty glass with his usual methodical movements. He didn’t speak, didn’t press. He simply let the silence settle around them, comfortable and unspoken.
Minutes passed before Lumine spoke again. "You don’t drink, do you?"
"No."
"That makes two of us." She swirled the cider in her glass before setting it down with a small smile. "But this is nice. Just… sitting here like this."
Diluc didn’t respond right away, but something about the way her voice softened made him glance at her. He wasn’t one for meaningless conversation, nor for small talk to fill the air. Yet he understood what she meant. A quiet moment shared between two people, no expectations, no need for words.
So, the next time she walked into Angel’s Share—tired, weary, but still standing—Diluc didn’t wait for her to order. He simply poured her a drink and slid into the seat across from her, letting silence speak for them.
Kaeya bets Lumine that she can’t make Diluc smile. Determined, she spends the night teasing and annoying the ever-serious Darknight Hero while he tends to Angel’s Share. But when he finally does smile—soft, fleeting, and real—she realizes she wasn’t doing it just for the bet.
The warm glow of Angel’s Share flickered against polished oak and glinting glass, the air thick with the scent of aged wine and subtle spices. It was a quiet evening—rare for Mondstadt’s favorite tavern—save for the usual murmurs of patrons enjoying their drinks. Behind the bar, Diluc worked with practiced efficiency, his expression as unreadable as ever.
Lumine sat at the counter, chin propped on her palm, eyes twinkling with mischief. Beside her, Kaeya swirled his wine lazily, smirking.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Traveler,” Kaeya mused, his tone laced with amusement. “Thinking of your next grand adventure, or are you just enjoying the view?” His gaze flickered toward Diluc meaningfully.
Lumine scoffed. “I’m not that easily distracted.”
“Is that so?” Kaeya leaned in, his smirk widening. “Then, how about a little wager? I bet you can’t make dear Diluc smile before the night is over.”
Lumine straightened. “That’s it? Just a smile?”
Kaeya chuckled. “I’d say it’s harder than facing a Ruin Guard unarmed.”
She tilted her head, sizing up the red-haired bartender. Diluc hadn’t so much as acknowledged their conversation, save for the occasional flick of his eyes toward them. He was always like this—stoic, distant, as if the world outside his tavern mattered little.
But she had seen glimpses of something softer in him, beneath the weight of old wounds and responsibility. A smile? That was a challenge she was more than willing to take on.
Lumine tapped a finger against her lips. “Alright. You’re on.”
Kaeya grinned and leaned back. “This will be fun.”
Lumine started small—little quips, innocent remarks thrown his way as he poured drinks for patrons.
“Do you ever get tired of looking so serious?” she mused, watching as he wiped down a glass with meticulous care.
Diluc didn’t glance up. “I prefer efficiency over idle chatter.”
“Ah, but isn’t a good bartender supposed to entertain their guests?”
“I serve drinks, not performances.”
Kaeya chuckled into his glass, and Lumine huffed. Fine. Subtlety wasn’t the way to go.
She tried more direct means. Stealing his rag to mess with him. Dramatically sighing about how the tavern lacked a welcoming atmosphere. Even outright complimenting him—“You know, Diluc, you have very nice eyes when you’re not glaring at people.”
That one made his hands pause briefly before he resumed his work. Progress, but still no smile.
The night wore on, and the patrons began to dwindle, leaving only a handful of stragglers. Kaeya had long since settled into amused observation, watching as Lumine leaned over the bar, resting on her elbows.
“You know,” she drawled, “I think you’re afraid to smile.”
Diluc finally looked up, one brow arched. “Afraid?”
“Mhm. You act like it’s a weakness.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
Lumine tapped a finger against the wooden counter. “I think it’s because if you do smile, people will see that you’re not just Mondstadt’s brooding hero, but an actual human being. And that scares you, doesn’t it?”
For a second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes. Then, with a quiet sigh, he returned to polishing a glass.
Lumine exhaled, resting her chin in her palm. “Alright, fine. I give up. You win.”
Kaeya chuckled. “You fought bravely.”
But before Lumine could wallow in defeat, a sound—soft, almost imperceptible—broke through the quiet hum of the tavern.
A breath of laughter.
Not loud, not mocking. Just a quiet huff of amusement, paired with the tiniest, fleeting upward curve of his lips.
Lumine froze.
Kaeya’s eyes widened slightly, but he hid his surprise well. “Well, well,” he mused, swirling his wine. “Would you look at that?”
Diluc—calm, composed, and unreadable Diluc—had smiled.
Lumine swallowed. The satisfaction of winning the bet should have been her first thought, but strangely, it wasn’t.
Because now, looking at him, she realized something.
She hadn’t been teasing him just for the sake of the game.
And when her heart skipped a beat, she knew she was in trouble.
