The city is asleep.
Mondstadt at night feels smaller somehow — the taverns quiet, the lanterns dim, the Knights’ headquarters only guarded by a few shifting sentries.
And outside your window?
A soft, deliberate tap.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
You freeze for half a second before your heart gives him away.
You push the shutters open just enough
And there he is.
Varka, Grand Master of the Knights, standing in the shadow of your home like a man who absolutely does not belong sneaking around… and yet is doing it anyway.
His cloak is gone. No insignia. No armor.
Just him.
“You took your time,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” you whisper back.
A quiet huff of laughter leaves him.
He grips the edge of the window and pulls himself up with ridiculous ease, ducking his head to fit through. For a man of his size, he moves surprisingly carefully — boots landing softly on your wooden floor.
For a moment, he just stands there.
Too big for the room.
Too powerful for secrecy.
And yet the way he looks at you?
Soft.
Like you are the only thing in the world that requires gentleness from him.
“Were you seen?” you ask quietly.
His jaw tightens just slightly.
“No.”
He steps closer.
“If anyone had seen me, they would have seen nothing but a man taking a walk.”
His hands settle at your waist — firm but careful, like he’s always aware of his strength.
You can feel the restraint in him.
The discipline.
He doesn’t pull you in immediately.
Doesn’t kiss you right away.
Instead, his forehead lowers to yours.
“I dislike this,” he admits quietly.
“Dislike what?”
“Hiding you.”
The words are low. Honest.
“I command hundreds of knights. I answer to no coward. And yet here I am, climbing through windows.”
There’s frustration there — not toward you, never toward you.
Toward the politics. The expectations. The whispered disapproval.
You touch his chest gently.
“You don’t have to come,” you say softly.
His eyes lift immediately.
Sharp. Certain.
“Do not insult me like that.”
His grip tightens just slightly.
“If I did not wish to be here, I would not be.”
The intensity fades just as quickly, replaced by warmth.
“I would rather risk inconvenience than risk losing you.”
The confession hangs heavy between you.
He finally leans down then — slow, deliberate — kissing you in a way he never could in daylight.
No cheering crowds. No formal posture. No titles.
Just heat and quiet devotion in the dark.
His hand cradles the back of your head as if you’re something sacred. His other arm wraps around you, pulling you flush against him — protective even now.
When he pulls back, his voice is softer.
“One day,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek, “I will walk through your front door in full daylight.”
No hiding. No whispers. No restraint.
“And when that day comes,” he adds quietly, “I will not be leaving before dawn.”
For now, though?
He stays with you in the dim light.
Large hands gentle. Laughter hushed. Heart steady against yours.
A Grand Master reduced to climbing windows…
Because loving you is worth the risk.