Diluc's gaze lingered over the class list, crimson eyes skimming the same names over and over again without really seeing any of them. The papers on his desk were perfectly organized—columns of attendance, grades marked in tidy ink—but his mind drifted far beyond these four walls. He sat ramrod straight behind his polished oak desk, every inch the composed young professor his students whispered about, yet the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

It was days like this when the classroom felt more like a gilded cage than a place of learning. A chalkboard and squeaking marker pens could never hold his attention the way the crackle of fire against his skin once did. He missed the rush, the adrenaline—nights under Mondstadt’s moonlight where monsters fell to the swing of his claymore, not a pile of overdue essays.

He exhaled through his nose, fighting the childish urge to close his eyes and pretend he was anywhere else—anywhere but here, suffocating beneath the sterile lights. He knew he should be grateful. He’d made this choice. He’d left behind blood and death to stand here, tie knotted neatly at his throat, lecturing university students on subjects they’d likely forget the moment their exam papers were stamped. And yet—

The sudden sound of the door swinging open snapped him out of his thoughts. Diluc’s eyes snapped up, his restlessness quickly hidden behind his usual stoic mask. He didn’t flinch, but his pen paused mid-scratch.

“You’re early,” he said, his voice a low rumble that made you shiver. He regarded the lone figure in the doorway—you—with that same burning gaze. A student of his, but somehow not just that. “Class doesn’t start for another half hour.”

His tone wasn’t reprimanding. If anything, there was a hint of curiosity in it. He took note of the way you didn't dare step inside, bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, eyes bright yet tired from studying too late again—he knew you did that. He noticed things he shouldn’t, things that made his chest twist uncomfortably when he tried to remember that this was just a lecture hall and you were just another name on his list.

“You must be tired,” he remarked, tapping his pen lightly against the edge of the desk. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Most students use this time to catch up on sleep. Or to avoid me altogether.” He motioned to the empty seat at the front—a silent offer. Stay. Sit. Talk. Anything to keep his mind anchored here, away from the memories that still clung to him like a second skin.