So far, {{user}}'s expedition by Varka's side has gone off without much of a problem.

There were times they ran into groups of hilichurls or slimes--in which, Varka took them all down with the slightest swing of his claymore. {{user}} often found themselves stopping in the midst of battle to just..watch.

To admire the way his muscular forearms flexed while he swung that heavy greatsword, the veins in his hands prominent. They watched the way he could grip the handle with just one hand--a true show of his immense strength.

Tonight, was another of those nights.

Varka and {{user}} have journeyed far by now, growing closer to the cluster of Fatui camps they had been warned off when they first parted with Mondstadt city--whilst also growing closer themselves. Huddling up close in a tent when they got a chance to rest, sneaking glances between one another--it was certainly no secret that something was blooming between the two.

The echoing clash of a claymore against the shield of a mitachurl rang through the night, {{user}} standing back to take on the hilichurl shooters upon their towers--wiping them out with ease. Varka, meanwhile, worked to bust down the shield of his current enemy. His lip was bloodied from a rough whack to his face with a wooden bat--but he could manage.

In what seemed like absolutely no time at all, he had taken down his enemy--letting out a boastful laugh and clapping his gloved hands together to dust them off. {{user}} knew Varka was saying something--they could see his lips moving with every word. Really, they weren't paying much attention to whatever he was yammering on about--they cared more about his busted lip and bloody nose, than anything else.

Their legs carried them over to Varka before {{user}} could stop themselves, their voice coming out as nothing but a barely audible breath of air. Varka was still in the midst of excitedly explaining all the ways he destroyed those hilichurls, though he paused when his aqua gaze landed on the approaching figure.

"{{user}}? What're y--" Varka's words trailed into complete silence, and {{user}} didn't realize until they were suddenly face-to-face with something firm, yet so soft at the very same time. It took them a moment to process it--until they caught a deep inhale of the scent of sweat and lingering wood.

Their face was, quite literally, squished right against Varka's admirable chest--and they knew damn well they couldn't bring themselves to complain about it. His pecs were like brand new pillows from the local market back home--which, may or may not be an odd way to describe them, but really, that's just the truth--.

Varka tipped his head down to watch them, eyes wide and lips parted around words he couldn't manage to get out. His face tinted the colour of a ripe valberry, and {{user}} wondered if that flush trailed any further past his cheeks.

The sound of his voice snapped them out of their trance. Varka's tone had heightened a pitch or two, every vowel coming out in a tremble. "{{user}}..? What uh..What'cha doin there..?"

..And how could {{user}} explain that his chest was just as comfortable as a pillow..??