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It is after two hours of roulette that Varka has finally gotten drunk. He had not done it alone, like a loser, but rather with his men, other merchants at the bar, and Flins the Lightkeeper. The key here is past tense. The game was over, now, wrapped up when Flins had left about ten minutes ago for his late night shift. He bid everyone a good night in a gentleman like manner, despite his two Dark Horses and one firewater. Varka wonders if his lineage hails from Mondstadt in any way, because he holds his liquor like a true brother in arms, but his character and frame are foreignly fascinating.
“Demyan?”
The bartender hums over the music for the evening and the general noise of other patrons. Varka can see his reflection in his shot-glass half-full of firewater.
“Flins ‘s great, huh?” Varka slurs.
Demayn nods again, cleaning a cup. “Lightkeepers are often self-sacrificing and patient, and therefore, people respect them quite a lot.”
“I … like his eyes.”
Demyan takes longer than usual to answer. Varka looks up from his drink just in time to hear Demyan say, “…Really? That’s what most people are afraid of.”
“Huh? Sc-Scared? Wha’ for? He’s like a bug, ya know. Little funny lookin’, in a cute way. Like a moth. Ha, you know - you know what’s funny bout that? Moth, lantern, ha, it’s backwards, spun round, ya know? If anything, I’m the one bugging out ‘bout him.”
Demyan just shakes his head and replaces Varka’s most recent shot glass with a cup of water.
“Okay, you’re talking nonsense now. No more drink for you.”
Varka wakes up the next day with a significantly too clear picture of that night, and swears off roulette for a whole week. But then he realizes, after writing most of his very long letter to Jean about the Rerir incident, that he never formally thanked Flins for his help. Lauma, Aino, Ineffa, and even the traveler and their little companion all received gifts. Most of them were treats and the general fact that their homes were now not going to be reduced to rubble. Nefer has a major favor she can call in on any time. Varka shivers a little at the thought, and then gasps an audible, “Ah shit,” when he recalls Flin’s warmth and lack of a gift.
“Hey, Ineffa… so, as a robot, you can use math and data to help people solve problems, right?”
Ineffa doesn’t blink at Varka. She doesn’t really do that. Her eyes light up with new information and her ears (?) wiggle. That’s about all.
“As long as the solution is within my capacity, yes. What is your inquiry? Please keep in mind Aino’s nap time is scheduled to last fifteen more minutes.”
Varka nods and then, talking quieter so the little kid doesn’t hear, asks, “What is a good gift for a Ratnik? I owe one of them, and I’m sure there’s a culturally appropriate tradition.”
Ineffa’s metal ears twitch.
“Hm. I have many possible options, however, gift giving varies from person to person. Might I inquire who the gift is for? I am quite familiar with the Lightkeepers of Nod Krai.”
Varka pauses here. He can feel that flush creeping up his nape into his ears. Ineffa has no concept of these things, so she cannot judge him, but she also has difficulty keeping secrets. Worse though are the merchants in town who will make a fortune on the hottest intel there could be:
“Flins.”
Ineffa’s eyes flash bright blue. “Hm. Fascinating.”
“Now why you gotta say it like that?!”
“Because it is fascinating. I did not realize you two spent time together. He is a very solitary person, after all. Even local residents of Nod Krai find him mildly - I believe the word is, creepy.”
“He’s not creepy!” Varka groans, and then reels his voice back in as to not wake Aino. “He’s just different, that’s all.” True, in regards to his personality. Also true because he’s not human. What he is? Varka’s got no clue. It’s rude to ask, duh.
Ineffa bows slightly in her programmed way. “Apologies, I did not intend to offend. I was merely assessing the situation. According to my records on Flins, he enjoys collecting gemstones, animal bones, old coins or artifacts, and fishing. He has also taken up bird watching recently. May I ask what occasion this gift is for?” Ineffa cocks her head and her pupils widen artificially. “I have no data on his birthday, or age, for that matter.”
“Uh, just, you know, the Rerir thing… I’ll find something! Thanks, Miss Ineffa!”
It is a misty, early morning when Flins opens his door and makes the most adorable sound of surprise. After all, Varka takes up most of the doorway and the moon is still gracing the dawn.
“Grand Master, good morning,” Flins speaks with his usual grace. “I am assuming that a visit this early in the morn implies there is an urgent matter?”
“Well yes - ah, no, not anything dire or life threatening - but it is, ah, important, and I wanted to catch you before your patrol.” Varka’s hands squeeze the box out of nerves, the one in his hands, the one Flins is now staring at with his golden eyes.
“Then, let me invite you in. We don’t want you to catch a chill now, do we?”
Varka follows Flin’s inside, occasionally having to duck under a low beam or doorway. Very few things in Nod Krai are built to a consistent size, salvaged as they are. For example, the only other time Varka came inside Flins’ home, he bashed his face right into a hanging lamp and nearly burned himself. But Flins decorates his small cabin on the island with care, that is for sure. He has a small dining area built for one, a modest couch with mismatched pillows, and many, many shelves on the walls filled to the brim with all sorts of oddities and knickknacks. There is a second floor, up a set of metal stairs, that Varka assumes is his bedroom, but he isn’t sure and certainly won’t entertain the thought of.
At least, not in the same room as Flins. He’s a knight, after all.
“So,” Flins begins, pointing at the box, “What is this? A gift? My, what have I done to deserve such kindness?” Flins chuckles at the end of his statement, like he is making a joke. Varka can’t tell if he feels sorry for the fact that Flins has implied a lack of gifts, or giddy at what’s to come.
“It’s your lucky day,” Varka smiles, and holds the box out in front of him. Flins freezes in place momentarily, and Varka takes that opportunity to step even closer and push the box into his hands so Flins can’t refuse.
“V-Varka, wait-”
“Nope! It’s yours! No take backs!” Varka laughs as he says it, mirth bubbling in his chest.
“You - horrible idea, now look what you’ve - “ Flins huffs, defeated when Varka has stepped back a few paces, leaving the box in his arms. Flins, hilariously, pouts, before again griping, “Is this how all Mondstadters are? Rushing in heart first, brain second? Now I owe you, idiot.”
“Don’t insult me, I got that for you as a friend! Took a while, too, so, you better enjoy it!”
Flins hesitates, peering at the woodwork, brushing his gloved fingers across the bronze clasp, as if he does not in fact want to disturb the package himself. He walks all the way over to his tiny dining table, and places it down before clicking the clasp open and lifting the lid of the box.
Inside, on top of a modest cushion of fabric and straw, lies a raven’s skull. It gleams that odd, ivory shade that bones are, highlighted by the lanterns in the room flickering up for a few moments in a sputter of flame.
“Oh. Oh my, look at you. Quite a handsome fellow, aren’t you?”
Flins lifts the skull and places it in his palm to marvel at it further. He is so enraptured, so delighted, that he paces slowly around the room, muttering praises and assessments of the raven skull that Varka cannot make tooth or nail from. It doesn’t seem to matter though, because Flins’ sweet smile sort of fries Varka’s brain.
“Such a beautiful specimen … I have not seen bones cared for with such delicacy in many years. It must have fetched a fine price at the markets.” Pausing, Flins slows his pacing, still looking at the skull in his hand. “I … apologize. I struggle with expressing gratitude for many reasons. Am I … talking too much?”
“Nah.”
“Do not lie. I can tell when my speeches … unsettle others.” Flins lifts his head up slightly, catching Varka’s eye timidly. “Do you not feel the same?”
Varka takes a step closer, avoiding the lantern he bashed his nose into a month ago. “When I first met you? Yeah, a little, but now I know you’re just a recluse with old man hobbies.” Gesturing at the box, Varka adds on, “I got you something else, uh, to go with the bird.”
Flin’s walks quickly back to the box, hovering for only a moment before dipping his free hand inside and raising up a modest sized stone. It is red and unnaturally warm to the touch, like it has sat in the sun.
“That’s special ore from Dragonspire. It’s Mondstadt's tallest mountain. It’s pretty dangerous to go there alone, because of the snow. I know you collect gems, but I thought hey, maybe this would be neat, too? I dunno, you can tell me if it’s stupid.”
Seeming to struggle between the two, Flins looks back and forth between the skull and the stone, finally putting the bone down and turning the ore over in his hands. Flins inspects it much like an actual jeweler - he even takes off one glove entirely and holds it up to the light of a lantern to inspect the fissures, babbling to himself in a similar manner as before. Varka sighs and leans against a post in the middle of the room, drinking it in. Flins is a funny fellow that swings between conniving trickster and serious peacekeeper. In moments like these, there is a joy that few have likely seen, aside from merchants who value coin more than heart. If Varka could, he would hold that smile in his hands and chase that warm delight.
“So, you like it?” Varka manages instead, keeping the poetry under lock and key. Flins nods vigorously, and then all of a sudden looks Varka right in the eye, and snorts a stupid sound. The lights flicker randomly in the cabin and then Flins apologizes profusely, trying to reel in whatever that was.
“Sorry, I - that was uncalled for. I appreciate these tokens very much, that is all.”
“Enough to laugh in my face?”
“Ah, no, no - I can enlighten you, but it is a silly thing, truth be told.”
Varka raises an eyebrow. “Well color me intrigued now. Go on.”
Flins glances back down at the ore, and back at Varka with that same smirk as before. “Have you ever read about penguins, Varka?”
“…A what now?”
“Oh, let me show you.” Flins closes his fist around the ore and takes a few quick steps to his shelves. There is a book there, significantly newer than anything else in the place. Flins takes the book with his free hand and flips to a page fluidly, brightening when he finds the page. He slides right up to Varka, and shows him an illustration of snow and ice, and small strange creatures on a sketch of an ice flow, with little yellow chests.
“Penguins live in cold climates like Scheznaya and fish for their meals under the ice waves. There is also a variation in Natlan that can swim through lava. Now, to nest, penguins need not straw or twigs, but pebbles and stones that will last. Choosing the perfect stone is one way to impress a - well, to show affection, and this gift just reminded me of that, I suppose.” Flins lowers the book to his side, and holds up the red ore again, rubbing his bare fingers across the stone. His cheeks are tinged an odd color. The gold of his eyes flash up through his bangs for just a moment, then back down to the ore, and he seems to tense before stepping away to one of his many shelves filled with curios. He gently places the book back into its spot before speaking again.
“What I mean to say is, I will cherish these gifts eternally, and you may request your favor in return when you see fit.”
Heart pounding, Varka steps quickly to Flins’ side, and he feels unsteady as if he’s about to jump off that metaphorical, hopeful edge.
“Don’t worry about it, I - I just wanted to express my thanks and - my, ah…”
“Affection?” Flins asks, still thumbing at the stone. The gold flickers again, in the corner of Flins’ eye, along with a small, teasing smile, both directed at Varka. “For bones and rocks? I did not realize you were a collector.”
Varka reaches out and covers Flins’ bare hand with his own, cupping the warm ore between their palms. Before Flins can even speak, protest, Varka lifts their hands up and presses a swift kiss to Flins’ knuckles, trying to be faster than the swooping vertigo of fear.
“For you. If that’s okay.”
The expression of shock on Flins’ face is almost laughable, if it were not for the fact that the nerves finally snuck up and are now making Varka want to puke like a freshly hazed Knight. Flins’ hand is hot, or is Varka just suddenly clammy? He has no idea. He’s just waiting for Flins, the gem that he is, to say anything or even breathe for that matter.
The stillness of Flins’ entire being is broken by a fluttering of his eyelashes and, finally, a stuttering voice. “I - I am unsure of how to respond. You must understand, it has been a long time since … I am not opposed, but, you must understand the situation we will be in.”
“The situation? Listen, if you … if you’re rejecting me, just say so. I can, you know, handle it. It’s fine. I can go, like, right now-”
As Varka loosens his hand to pull away, Flins tightens his hold.
“No! No, do not go. I - I did not say I was unhappy.”
“...No, you didn’t. Are you?”
“No. No, I am very glad. I ... I appreciate your company greatly. In fact, I care deeply for many people, you see. It is a wonderful thing to witness humanity and all the intricacies that make souls whole. Lauma’s dedication to her people, little Aino and her curiosity, to name a few. But when it comes to myself, I have the people’s respect, not affection, and so this… surprised me.”
Varka finds himself frowning, slightly. “Well, don’t be. You’re amazing, beyond that.”
“Capable, yes, of course I am. But - Grand Master, you must know that-“
Flins is cut off, Varka kissing his knuckles again. The stone is warm, his skin is warm, far more than his pale complexion implies. “Varka,” he says, “We talked about this.”
Flins huffs with an annoyed tone, “Should have never given that to me… Well, Varka, I am not human.”
“…Okay, and?”
“Does nothing perturb you?”
“I ain’t some racist idiot, Flins. I’ve half raised an immortal witch girl who sets the town on fire. Frequently.”
A light laugh leaves Flins’ mouth, and Varka wishes to know what it feels like against his own. Before he can ask for anything further, Flins begins a new line of conversation.
“Oh, this is why you take to the uncommon so quickly. You chase the tailcoats of risk like an eager pup, don’t you?”
“You callin’ me a dog?” Varka snaps, and Flins rolls his eyes slightly. “Hey now. You’re lucky you’re so cute.”
“Me? Cute? How tender.” Now, Flins steps forward, close enough their chests almost brush. He bats his eyelashes as he continues to tease, “If you are so sure… Then tell me, is that all you think of me?”
“I think a lot about you, Flins. Was up all night thinking about you.”
“How romantic, to forgo sleep in favor of desires. You are quite the suitor, Sir Knight. But, I must be honest, I am unfamiliar with modern rules of courtship. What step would you next suggest we take?”
The air is scalding, and Varka swallows heavily. He had this planned, actually, thought about it long and hard on the long walk to the island.
“Will you come to Moon Prayer Night with me? As my date?”
Flins cocks his head one way, and gets up on his tip toes. He breathes the words into Varka’s parted mouth.
“A quaint request. I accept, my dear knight.”
“Oh thank god,” Varka whispers, and then whines as Flins tugs him downward by the lapel of his coat into a kiss. It’s a fast one, leaving Varka breathless and staggering forward, seeking another, until he loses his footing and flops onto the couch. Snickering from above, Flins holds his hand in front of his face, the ore still shimmering just as bright as his eyes and the lanterns.
Varka should ask what he truly is, to understand the way Flins enchants him like a thrall of old. But that can wait for another day.