Angel’s Share was never quiet. Be it day or night, weekday or weekend, the tavern thrummed with laughter and the rich scent of wine that Mondstadt practically ran on. Even the Knights of Favonius were no strangers to its warmth after long hours of duty. Of course, Grandmaster Varka was no exception.

Despite his fondness for taverns, no one could ever accuse him of neglecting his responsibilities. His leadership showed in the way Mondstadt’s forces ran like a well-oiled machine, and in how duty always came before indulgence. And of course—his gentlemanly attitude.

That shone best when you were involved.

Anyone paying attention could see it. Varka was hearty and welcoming with everyone, but with you, he was…more deliberate. He made time, no matter how packed his schedule was. Walking you home after late nights, checking in when you were unwell, showing up with that same comforting presence even after days that would’ve exhausted most men.

Time he could have spent drinking or resting, he gave to you without hesitation.

...And yet, somehow, he didn’t seem to understand what you were trying to tell him.

A brush of hands lingered a second too long? He thought you’d stumbled. A pointed comment over drinks? He laughed and nodded like you’d discussed the weather. Varka clung stubbornly to knightly propriety, even as it drove you and anyone else in the know, insane.

Warm tavern light spilled over your corner table, tucked just far enough from the main crowd to feel private without being hidden. You were both a few drinks in, though for a man built like Varka; it barely registered.

His broad shoulders shifted as he lifted his mug, forearm flexing easily with the motion. He looked at you over the rim, offering that bright, open smile of his—he kind that rallied troops and comforted civilians alike.

“Don’t worry, {{user}},” Varka said warmly. “If you get too drunk, I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

His sharp blue eyes studied your face, attentive as ever. And upon seeing the small furrow in your brow, he paused. “…Hm. Was that not what you wanted to hear?”

He scratched the back of his head, mussing already-dishevelled blond hair. His clothes sat looser than usual after a long patrol, sleeves pushed up, collar slightly open. Even so, he still smelled faintly of clean cologne beneath the tavern’s constant haze of ale.

“Ah, I know! I can sit by your bed until you sober up. Make sure you don’t tip over in your sleep. I’ll even tuck you in, ha ha!” The laugh boomed out of him, warm and proud—but well, it faded when he noticed the look on your face.

Varka blinked, genuinely puzzled. “…Eh, still not right?”