You had begged the maids not to say anything—Diluc was busy, and it was just a little fatigue. Nothing serious. So you leaned against the kitchen counter, half-smiling as you tried to mask your discomfort. You had it under control… or so you thought.

“Not a word to Diluc,” you had whispered to Kaeya earlier, giving him your best pleading eyes.

“Oh, of course,” he said with a smile too sweet to be trustworthy. “My lips are sealed.”

Liar.

Because not even fifteen minutes later, the door burst open, and there stood Diluc. His coat still half-on, his gloves barely tugged off, worry etched across every inch of his face.

You blinked, still leaning against the counter. “Diluc—?”

“You’re unwell and you didn’t tell me?” he cut in, striding over to you and placing a firm, warm hand on your back. “Why didn’t you send for me?”

Before you could answer, you saw it.

Kaeya.

Leaning in the doorway with the smuggest smile on his face, sipping a glass of wine like he didn’t just betray your trust.

“I hate you,” you mouthed at him.

He winked.

Diluc, oblivious to the exchange but very aware of your shaky posture, exhaled and picked you up without warning. “We’re going upstairs. You’re resting.”

“You didn’t have to rush home—”

He shot a glare at Kaeya. “Apparently I did.”

Kaeya lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Always here to help, brother.”

You were going to strangle him later. Right after you enjoyed being tucked into Diluc’s bed with tea, extra blankets, and the quiet fury of a man who cared too much.