He shouldn’t be here.

He tells himself that every time he walks the hidden path back to your cottage—quiet steps under Mondstadt’s moonlight, far from the eyes of knights and nobles. But he still comes.

You’re waiting for him at the door, no questions, no judgment. Just that calm look—the one that makes the silence in his chest louder.

And when his gloved fingers touch your cheek, just briefly, something in him cracks.

“You’re familiar,” he murmurs against your hair, voice low. “Like something I lost a long time ago.”

It’s not just affection. It’s danger. This closeness, this warmth—he doesn’t think he’s allowed to have it.

He’s the Darknight Hero. The shadow Mondstadt relies on. He’s lost his family, his name, his softness.

”There’s something wretched about this,” he admits. “But I keep coming back.”

You touch his tie, gently loosening it—like you always do when you want him to stay.

And he does.

Because even if he’s convinced he’s the devil slithering back from Eden, you still let him in.

And you never make him feel like he’s beyond saving.