Chapter Text
Varka doesn’t consider himself a denialist. Holding his position as Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, who are, to put it kindly, a bunch of misfits, he’s seen his share of weirdness for at least three lifetimes. By Celestia, his Archon is a drunk twink who can turn into a wind spirit. Because of that, Varka thinks he can handle strange things just fine. The unusual is ordinary to him.
That’s why, when Flins reveals nothing less than a pair of crystalline wings, like a damned angel on his lap while kissing him on a dull winter afternoon, he doesn’t react with shock or gape in awe like some idiot, thank you very much. But that’s when it clicks, the realization turning like a key in his mind.
Holy shit, he’s a fae.
There’s absolutely nothing extraordinary about Flins being a goddamn fairy, of course not. Varka’s probably fought more exotic creatures on a random Wednesday morning. Sure, none of them later became the object of his desires, but that’s not a thought he wants to entertain. He just doesn’t know how he missed something that important.
Actually, now that Varka thinks about it, the whole thing was pretty obvious, Flins never really made an effort to hide his magical nature at all. Maybe Varka truly was, deep down, in denial.
Archons above, what a terrible stain on his reputation. Well, at least that explains three or four things about the handsome man on top of him, and Varka had always been too distracted by Flins’ beauty most of the time, so he’ll forgive himself. It couldn’t have been that obvious. Of course not.
Except it absolutely was.
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I — Paimon (+ Aether)
To absolutely no one’s surprise, it all starts with Paimon.
The little white floating creature is the first thing Varka sees upon arriving at Flagship, where he’d offered to treat the traveler to dinner as an apology. You know, for disappearing from Nasha Town a day before Aether’s arrival, even after promising to greet him personally. He’s not only a knight — he’s also a gentleman, so nothing could be more fitting than free food and alcohol to make amends, right?
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty”, he hears Paimon grumble to the mysterious figure whose back faces Varka. He usually has a good memory, but doesn’t recognize the man’s silhouette right away. “Because heavens, you’re such a weirdo.”
“Paimon”, Aether scolds, but the mischief in his eyes betrays him. “Be nice to Flins. Awful posture or not, he’s the one who caught those fish for you.”
“Offering a proper meal is nothing but simple courtesy; I would never let you leave without ensuring your well-being”, the mysterious gentleman replies, his voice dripping with enviable grace. He even seems to share Varka’s mindset, the Grand Master notes with appreciation. Maybe they’ll get along, both gentlemen at heart, after all. “As for my posture, well, that’s the stance my ancestors taught as proper for fishing.”
Paimon huffs, stomping her little feet on imaginary ground with such conviction that Varka almost believes there’s actual floor beneath her, not just air. “But you didn’t eat! You just watched us, laughing with ghosts, of all things! Paimon still doesn’t get how anyone thought we were distant relatives or whatever!”
Varka doesn’t understand what she means by that. Even from behind, the man looks nothing like the little fairy, their clothes aren’t even remotely similar in color. He squints, still a few steps away from the trio, just to make sure the stranger wasn’t floating like Paimon. Or was he hovering? Maybe “flying” fits better. Whatever it is, both of the man’s feet are firmly on the ground.
She seems ready to start ranting again in her shrill little voice when Varka decides it’s the perfect time to intervene, for the sake of everyone’s eardrums. And because eavesdropping for too long would be rude, no matter how often his Cavalry Captain, Kaeya, does it. Ah, he misses the kid, hopefully Kaeya’s forgiven him for taking all the horses.
“Am I interrupting your little gathering? Forgive my delay”, he announces, finally stepping out of the shadows with a wide, sharp smile. His confidence doesn’t waver under Aether’s unimpressed look, the kind that says I knew you were there the whole time. Well, he wouldn’t expect less from the Honorary Knight.
“I’ll think about forgiving you if you pay for dessert”, Aether replies dryly, then gestures to the man seated in front of him. “I don’t know if you two have met, but considering Flins’ reclusive habits, probably not. Varka, this is Flins, a Ratniki. Flins, this is Varka, Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius. God knows why he’s been here this long instead of going back to Mondstadt and returning the damn horses.”
Varka has a comeback ready, because, look, it was a long journey. He and his men needed the animals, alright? Kaeya’s competent enough to be Cavalry Captain, horses or not, and walking isn’t that big of a deal. He’s young. Varka’s just about to say all that, but then his eyes fall on the mysterious man, Flins, and any witty remark dies in his throat.
Dear Barbatos, this has to be the most beautiful person ever to grace Varka’s eyes. For a second, he actually considers praying to Venti in thanks for the blessing before him. But knowing the Wind God, that gossiping bard probably already knows. Paimon’s earlier comment suddenly doesn’t sound exaggerated, this guy is so gorgeous that even if he did the weirdest, most questionable shit in front of Varka, he’d still let him get away with it thanks to that face.
When Varka says nothing and the silence drags on just a bit too long to be polite, Flins softly clears his throat and smiles, his golden eyes turning into half-moons. Holy shit, Varka’s not going to survive this. Where the hell was this angel hiding during his entire stay in Nod-Krai, and how did the Traveler find him first?
“I’m Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins, but you can just call me Flins, Grand Master. It’s an honor to meet you after hearing so much. I’m sorry for intruding on your meeting with the Traveler”, the handsome man says, rising smoothly and bowing with grace. Gods, even his voice is hot. Varka bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from staring like some dumb teenager with no self-control or like the man in front of him is the only glass of water in a desert.
He has the audacity to grab Flins’ wrist when the man starts to move away, too desperate for him to stay. Flins’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and Varka immediately wants to kick his own ass for crossing a line with a stranger just because of his ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty. He quickly lets go and rubs the back of his neck, burning with embarrassment. “Sorry about that”, Varka manages, sounding more like the Grand Master he’s supposed to be than a pathetic loser. “Just call me Varka. And please, stay and dine with us. Any friend of Aether’s is a friend of mine.”
Aether rolls his eyes. “You wouldn’t like my war criminal friends.”
Varka thinks about it for a second. “Well, depends, do they have a good sense of humor?”
“Archons above”, Paimon groans again, her voice so high-pitched it could shatter glass. Varka pities Aether’s eardrums for putting up with that daily. “Just sit down with Flins and order already! Paimon’s starving!”
Good enough excuse. Varka won’t refuse the chance to sit next to Flins — who nods politely to stay — and calls for the waiter, ordering the full menu as thanks to Paimon for the unintentional push.
Things flow easily from there. Varka discovers that Flins isn’t only a good listener but also a storyteller with meticulous attention to detail. He keeps fond memories of his fallen comrades and has those small, honest smiles he shares when he thinks no one’s watching. Varka also notices stranger things, that he lives in a cemetery literally surrounded by ghosts, or how his eyes sometimes don’t look entirely human, not to mention that famous fishing stance that gets on Paimon’s nerves. It’s easy to see it’s not just the man’s looks that are charming, and a few hours later, Varka finds himself completely hypnotized.
“How come I’ve never seen you around before?”, he finally asks, voice dripping with flirtation. Varka isn’t drunk, just a little braver after his sixth glass.
“He’s a recluse at heart”, Aether answers for him, raising an eyebrow as if he knows exactly what Varka’s up to. Well, the traveler’s scrutiny is something the Grand Master can handle just fine.
“Flins only comes to town for Lightkeeper business or to fix his lantern”, Paimon adds, speaking slower now that she’s full. “Paimon’s always curious how he manages to break that thing so many times.”
Flins shrugs, clearly amused by the accusation. There’s no sign of drunkenness on his face, even after four glasses. “I have a lot of work to do, so it just happens.”
Aether looks at Flins fondly, resting his cheek on his hand, and now it’s Varka’s turn to raise an eyebrow nearly to his hairline, because no way he’s got competition for the Ratniki’s attention. “Maybe if you stopped using your lantern for things other than lighting, it wouldn’t break so often.”
Varka blinks. Wait, what?
Flins, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed, placing the object beside his untouched plate. Does he have bad eating habits? There’s no way you survive Ratniki-level work without eating properly. But Flins doesn’t look skinny or unhealthy, maybe the thick coat and layers of clothing are just tricking Varka’s well-trained eyes.
He’s about to ask when the food on Flins’ plate is — quite literally — absorbed by the damn lantern. What the fuck is all Varka can think as he watches the meal vanish like some kind of magic trick. He swears he sees the lantern’s flame flicker bluer for a moment, crackling with what can only be described as satisfaction.
Alright, he’s seen his share of weird things, but seriously, what the fuck.
“My apologies”, Flins says softly, noticing Varka’s disbelieving stare before he can hide it, sounding embarrassed for the first time that night. “It would be rude of me not to enjoy the meal, but I didn’t realize my little trick would frighten you.”
Varka waves his hands, forcing a laugh. “Didn’t scare me”, he lies, because no way he’s letting this beauty think otherwise. Varka’s used to absurdity; feeding a magic lantern is nothing compared to the shit he’s seen. Or maybe Flins feeds through it? He’s not sure he wants to know. “Just… enjoy it your way, yeah?”
Something shines in Flins’ eyes, something not entirely human, but Varka doesn’t care, melting inwardly at the sight. It’s not fair for someone to be this beautiful; it’s doing things to his chest.
“Thank you, Varka”, Flins says his name for the first time that night, and it sounds so good in his voice that Varka almost asks him to say it again and again. He doesn’t, because that’d be creepy as hell, but he does stare far longer than is appropriate for polite conversation. The bit of exposed skin at Flins’ neck is driving him insane, and Varka has to clench his fist to stop himself from reaching out.
“Just get a room already”, Paimon interrupts, sticking out her tongue in disgust. “Paimon and Flins are definitely not the same thing. Call Paimon back when this gay show’s over!”, she declares before vanishing into whatever pocket dimension she hides in when she wants a nap and nothing important’s going on.
Now Flin's cheeks are dusted with a lovely light pink, not unlike Varka’s own, whose ears are burning. He decides the embarrassment is worth it if he gets to see that look on Flin's face again.
“You’re impressive, Varka”, Aether says, taking another sip of his drink, completely unfazed. His alcohol tolerance is almost as bizarre as Venti’s. “It’s been months since Paimon’s used that little trick. Kind of ironic for her to say that when she disappears into nothing, a lot like a certain Lightkeeper”, a knowing smile curves his lips, aimed right at Flins.
“I’m trying to stop that habit”, Flins says simply, still slightly flushed, and it sounds like a lie. Varka decides he wants to kiss him and wisely ignores all context of the conversation. “But I agree with Paimon; our natures are different.”
“What are we talking about?”, Varka finally asks, genuinely curious about this man’s nature.
His two dinner companions just laugh, the kind of laugh people give when they’re sitting on a very entertaining secret. A faint signal of caution pings in Varka’s mind, but he’s too distracted by the story Flins begins telling to bother being paranoid about it.
After all, what dark secret could such a beautiful Ratniki possibly be hiding?