Chapter Text
When you emailed your resume to Mondstadt Elementary’s HR department, you went in not really expecting anything. It’s the most prestigious private school in the city, and you figured you had to rack up a few more years of teaching experience before being allowed to walk their halls as part of the faculty.
Yet right now, you’re standing in front of an empty fourth-grade classroom you’d worked your ass off preparing for almost two weeks.
You did your best to simulate the homey yet conducive environment you recalled your own elementary school classrooms used to have – hoping it would be enough for the students to call their second home. Your colleague Rosaria, who advised a sixth-grade class called you an unnecessary sap. Her TA, Barbara, said the effort you exerted was adorable.
Tomorrow marks your first day as an adviser in Mondstadt Elementary School, but you don’t quite feel the first time jitters, since you shadowed a senior colleague that helped students who had to retake some failed subjects last summer.
The kids here aren’t too bad. Good manners are upheld at all times, and the most troublesome ones would only pull harmless pranks on each other at worst.
Breathing through your nose, you muster a motivated grin. You’ve totally got this.
“Um, excuse me.”
A small voice from the doorway startles you out of your self-administered pep-talk. There, you see a little girl wearing a lovely red picnic dress, her pale blonde hair tied up in pigtails. She peers into the room, and you ask, “Yes?”
“Is this Grade 4, Class Wolfhook?” the girl asks shyly. “Big Brother told me I’m old enough to look for my classroom but…the second floor is scary.”
Right. Classrooms for first to third graders are on the ground floor. Once they step into fourth grade, they’ll have to climb the stairwell to get to their classrooms on the second floor. Such is the fate of the older kids.
“Mhmm, you’re in the right place,” you reassure her. “What’s your name?”
“Klee,” the little girl says, and you find it a bit concerning how quick she is to give her name to strangers – even if you are a teacher in this school. “Mama told me she’ll give me sparklers from Inazuma as a present if I behave on my first day.”
…Sparklers?
Deciding that the trinkets she’s spoiled with are none of your business, you rifle through the drawer of the teacher’s desk. It’s easy to spot the list of students enrolled in your class, and turns out, there’s one named Klee towards the end of the roster.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you! I’ll be your teacher starting tomorrow,” you say, striding over to the doorway to crouch in front of her. “I hope we get along, Klee.”
Her mouth morphs into a wide ‘O’ once you tell her the news, and the young girl claps her hands giddily. “I found my classroom on my own!”
“Yep, you did.” Your shoulders shake with soft laughter, patting her head before rising back to your feet. “Well, do you want to look around first or are you going to look for your big brother now?”
Despite her obvious cheer, Klee adamantly shakes her head. “I promised my friends that we’d pick our seats together. And I wanna be fair to everyone else too, teacher.”
Teacher, huh?
The kids from summer class addressed you the same way, despite still being an assistant at the time, but hearing it now that you’re going to have a class of your own makes your heart flutter a little. Gods, you can already hear Rosaria teasing you about –
“Excuse me, are you the class adviser?”
You perk up at the sound of another voice, one that clearly belongs to another adult, resounding from the door. She’s wearing a casual fit – dainty blouse and skinny jeans – and you would have assumed this is Klee’s mother, if not for the fact that the woman’s eyes are a bright blue, and her hair is a different shade of blonde.
“May I help you?” you ask, and at the same time, Klee gasps at the woman’s entrance before bounding towards her.
She squeals excitedly,stubby arms circling the woman’s waist. “Miss Jean, you’re here! Have you seen Big Brother Albedo?”
The woman – Jean – chuckles softly, patting her head with ample affection. “He’s right outside looking for you.”
Like most children, it seems that Klee has already gotten over the initial excitement of seeing her new classroom for the first time. Without as much as an eyelash batted your way, she runs out of the door, calling for this Albedo person down the halls. You turn to Jean with a withering smile.
Jean seems quite attuned to your sheepish reaction, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. “She can be a little too excited sometimes, but Klee is a good child.”
“I’m assuming you’re… not her mother?”
“Yes, I’m just one of her guardians,” she sighs, pretty blue eyes transfixed on the entrance. “Her mother is a busy woman, and she’s entrusted some of us to look after Klee while she’s gone. Hopefully, you can help us out.”
You spare her a soft laugh. “If she’s made it to fourth grade, then I don’t think she should be a handful.”
“Hmm…”
Jean falls silent for a moment – a look of uncertainty passing over her delicate features. It makes you wonder if there’s something off about your assumption.
“You must be new then,” she concludes with a sigh, and you aren’t sure if you should be offended or not. “Let’s just say that Klee has a habit of…playing with fire. But don’t worry. The school already has countermeasures put in place should she cause any unforeseen accidents.”
Now that makes you pause. Countermeasures? Unforeseen accidents?
You just thought she meant ‘playing with fire’ in a figurative sense. Lots of children like to test the boundaries of what they can and can’t do, and you wouldn’t put it past even a little girl that’s as sweet as Klee to have those lingering curiosities.
But, as if the universe is keen on making you believe every word Jean is saying, the shrill sound of the fire alarm blares through the empty hallways – making the both of you jolt with surprise. While your first instinct is to sprint outside to check what the commotion is about, you spot Jean sighing in the corner of your eye.
To your relief, it doesn’t seem like a fire has started anywhere in the building, but you do spot a couple of the equally confused school staff wandering the halls. You make a face when the siren continues to drone overhead, wondering when someone’s going to cut it off until you make a turn around a corner hallway.
There, you see Klee staring shamelessly at the floor, hands behind her back as a young man with long, pale hair pulls up the handle to the fire alarm mounted on the wall. Just like that, the abrasive noise makes way for deafening silence. From the guilty look on the little girl’s face, you think that she might’ve (not-so) accidentally triggered it.
“Klee, what did we tell you about causing unnecessary trouble?”
She pouts. “...No Ice Cream Fridays?”
“No Ice Cream Fridays.”
Before you can even announce your presence, you hear the sound of someone running from behind. One look over your shoulder reveals a breathless Jean sporting an apologetic look she sends your way before turning to Klee and the newcomer.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says sheepishly, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. “This is Albedo. Klee’s mother actually had three of us look after her, but sometimes, three isn’t enough.”
The man, Albedo, shakes his head, but there’s no trace of hassle anywhere on his face. A cool, collected expression settles in his gaze, and he doesn’t even look frustrated that the kid he’s in charge of pretty much woke up the entire school.
“It’s never enough,” he says, almost laughing as he pats Klee’s shoulder. “But if she comes home safely, and learns from her mistakes at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”
“Three?” you echo, eyes darting between the two adults. You’re more concerned with the fact that Klee has that many non-parentals looking after her than the fact that she gets away with her unintended(?) mischief far too easily.
“Who’s the other one then?”
This time, Jean and Albedo share a passing look – as if quietly agreeing on something that you can’t exactly read between the lines. With a sigh, it’s the former who tells you:
“You might see him around soon.”
…
When you time out later in the day, Rosaria catches you by the lockers with a miffed look.
“What’s up?” you wonder, adjusting the straps of your bag over your shoulder.
“It’s him,” she scoffs before rummaging through her own – ready to make good work on her first cigarette in literal hours. “No idea how he missed you on the way, but he’s waiting outside the faculty room, scaring the TAs while he’s at it.”
The news pulls an exasperated noise from your lips that Rosaria doesn’t pay any attention to – sighing with relief when she finds her trusty lighter. Despite being completely aloof about the fact that that person has attempted to contact you again, you’re glad that Rosaria gave you a heads up before you left. You can only imagine how terrified Barbara must be, seeing a brooding redhead just standing outside the teachers’ lounge.
Gods, you really hoped he’d settle whatever disputes you had left privately, but that doesn’t seem like an option for him right now.
Instead of fetching the uninvited visitor yourself, you make a detour towards the school parking lot – easily spotting the same car that he used to pick you up in a year ago. The sight of his ride’s sleek black finish used to be comforting when you spot it in the streets, but now, all it does is leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
To: Diluc
I’m waiting for you at the parking lot. If you have something to say to me, you can do it here.
You sigh, dropping your phone back into your bag in an attempt to avoid further conversation. If you knew your ex-boyfriend as well as you think you do, he’d probably just give your message a single glance before getting a move on.
He isn’t the type to coax you into doing what he wants through texts, but you like to think you still have a sense of agency when it comes to him. That the breakup didn’t shatter your heart into a million pieces, so you can definitely hold a mature conversation with him now.
Moreover, it’s been more than six months since you split up. You’re honestly more curious about why he went out of his way to where you worked in person than distraught about seeing him for the first time in a while.
…Okay, maybe you’re a little distraught. But everything concerning Diluc is water under the bridge, and you’d rather keep it that way.
When he descends the steps of the main building, anyone could mistake him as one of the school administrators. Diluc’s expensive sweater vest rests atop an iron-pressed dress shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. There’s a coat hanging across his arm, and you figure from that alone that he must’ve left work in a hurry.
All the more reason to ask:
“What are you doing here?” Your lips bow into a grimace. “And could you not have called me first before showing up without warning?”
Diluc heaves a gruff sigh, checking his watch before meeting your eyes with a stone-cold gaze. It reminds you of the first time you met him, and you try not to think about how much it stings to realize that you’re virtually strangers again.
“I received the news while I was driving back to the manor, so I couldn’t exactly give you any sort of forewarning,” he says, as if expecting you to already know this.
You roll your eyes. “Your car is literally parked right here, and you took your sweet time trying to corner me in the faculty room. The least you could do is text me about whatever the hell you want to talk about.”
There’s a pregnant pause in the conversation – one that someone as sharp-tongued as Diluc wouldn’t just let pass without putting up a fight. But then, a certain possibility occurs to you.
One reason he couldn’t have texted you might be because…
“You deleted my number, didn’t you?”
He can’t even bring himself to deny the accusation – red eyes stubbornly evading your speculative stare. “Didn’t you say it would be the best for both of us if we didn’t contact each other again?”
“Yeah, but you’re here anyway, right?”
Diluc smooths a hand over his face, almost like he’s keeping himself from groaning at your impertinence, but you can’t be bothered to not grill him about his obtuse behavior.
“Anyway,” you start once more, fully deciding that you are not going to let this exchange drag longer than it has to. “What is so important that you had to make a u-turn on the freeway just to talk to me about it face-to-face?”
“Our old apartment’s lease is ending this year,” he replies bluntly. “The landlord wants it clean by winter, and you still have some things left behind.”
You try not to focus on how Diluc easily said our apartment, and instead pay attention to the fact that he said old. Implying he no longer lives there, which is probably for good reason. Though his family’s manor is about an hour’s drive away from the city, he’s better off making the trip instead of camping in that cramped space anyways.
“Okay,” you tell him – too prideful to admit that you actually forgot what you failed to bring with you when you moved out. “When do you want me to come get them?”
He shrugs – a noncommittal gesture that pisses you off for some reason. “Anytime before the contract expires.”
“Wait a second, why didn’t you just terminate the contract when you moved out?” you ask, sounding more incredulous than you actually are. “I don’t think I left anything that important behind, so you could’ve just trashed whatever’s gathering dust in there.”
You knew that Diluc has a way of monopolizing properties for the benefit of his family business, but a one-bedroom apartment isn’t exactly going to bring him much revenue, right?
Unless…he kept it for other reasons.
The moment your mind decides to entertain the thought, you shake your head. No. You are not going down that lane.
Diluc was never the sentimental type anyways.
“Fine, I’ll get my shit out of your hands soon,” you grumble, not waiting for a response in his end. “Anything else you have to say to me?”
He considers it for a second replying, “I can help you move the rest of your stuff to your new place if you need it.”
Great, and have him even more involved in your life than you’re comfortable with?
“Cool. Thanks.”
You half-expect him to say more; to reach out to you about something else even if the main purpose of his visit has already been concluded. But you know these are just tiny wisps of hope brought about by your current single status from the past half year. Diluc obviously doesn’t think about you anymore outside of this little hiccup with an old lease. He didn’t even have your number until you texted him again earlier.
What reason does he have left to rekindle something he already snuffed out months ago?
“Just…text me when you’re free,” Diluc says somewhat awkwardly, stepping aside to unlock the driver’s seat of his car. “See you.”
When you timed in for work this morning, you thought it was just going to be the first day jitters plaguing your mind until tomorrow finally comes. Being a new teacher at a prestigious elementary school is no joke. But as Diluc’s car speeds out of the parking lot, you’re filled with that same inescapable emptiness that you thought you’ve already moved past from.
“What are you still doing here?”
Startled, you whip back to see Rosaria tucking a box of cigarettes back into her bag, one brow arched in curiosity. You shuffle closer to her without another thought, taking her hands in yours with a borderline desperate look in your eye.
“Whoa.” Rosaria stares at you, spooked. “Did that guy do anything wei –”
“Do you want to grab some drinks later tonight?”
…
You like to think you’re a responsible drinker.
Of course, inviting a coworker out so late the night before your first day on the job isn’t very responsible of you, but you’re only this bold because you’re aware of your own alcohol tolerance.
Besides, you’ve prepped thoroughly for the incoming school year. You deserve to be somewhat reckless one last time before becoming a role model to a bunch of fourth graders for an indefinite amount of time, right?
If you openly broadcasted that to the headmistress, you’re pretty sure she’ll fire you on the spot. But it’s a good thing Rosaria knows all the discreet nightclubs in the city. Your identities as elementary school teachers are as good as nonexistent.
Speaking of, Rosaria is off scamming some poor college kid by the beer pong tables, and you’re in the middle of the dance floor – swaying to the rhythm of an unfamiliar yet catchy song. Diluc would probably disapprove of such a careless display from someone of your profession, but you tell yourself that he’s the reason why you ended up here tonight in the first place. Fuck what he thinks.
Distraction or not, there’s something cathartic in dancing the night away with just the right amount of liquor to make your head buzz. Moreover, you feel someone’s gaze on you the entire time, and it’s easy to spot the person in question nursing his own drink at the bar.
It’s difficult to see through the constantly flickering strobe lights, but you can make out long, dark hair cascading across one shoulder, and a black leather eyepatch. You half-wonder if he’s just early for halloween or it’s a new fashion statement that you’re too busy to catch up on.
Either way, his eyes (eye?) follow you all the way back to the bar where you deliberately seat yourself exactly two bar stools away – flagging down the bartender to mix you a pretty drink. Eyepatch guy doesn’t speak up until said bartender moves away to fulfill your order, and you lean back to face him with an expectant look.
“Hey, beautiful,” he starts – voice dipping low and sultry, just the way you like it.
“What’s your name?”
…
You don’t remember his name when you wake up the first time.
Eyepatch guy – as you’ve now resorted to addressing him – crawls out of your bed in silence, but you’ve never been a heavy sleeper. The moment you feel his weight ease off the mattress, your eyes flutter open with bleary cognizance.
It’s still dark out, and you’re sure it hasn’t been an hour since you passed out in his arms after a blistering orgasm. He must’ve been courteous enough to lie with you for a while before making his leave, though you aren’t sure if you should be flattered or offended by it.
You try not to make it obvious that you’re awake, staying completely still as you listen to the rustle of clothes as he dresses himself. But it’s difficult to keep your wits about you when your bare skin starts to tingle at the memory of his touch. You close your eyes again – wishing he’d just leave quickly so you can go back to peaceful slumber.
All of a sudden, you feel the press of warm lips against your cheek, and it takes every single fiber of your being to not react to it. You internally panic at the idea that he definitely knows you’re awake because you feel the way his mouth twitches with a smirk before whispering:
“Good night, sweetheart.”
…
You don’t remember his name the second time you wake up, either, but the difference is you now recognize that, beyond your occasionally questionable life choices, you’re actually a fully functioning adult.
You don’t let yourself mull over what seems like the most satisfying one night stand you’ve ever had, since you have to report to work by six-thirty in the morning. The only things you can squeeze into your schedule are a hasty shower and a slice of toast for breakfast.
Rosaria has yet to time in when you make it to the teacher’s lounge with five minutes to spare. One glance at your text message history gives you a hint that she might be running late on the first day of the school year. You’re slightly sorry for dragging her into a night out so abruptly, so you make a mental note to buy her a coffee once she arrives.
But as you arrange some documents you’ll be needing to kickstart the day, your brain decides it’s the most optimal time to dwell on the same things you desperately tried not to think about yesterday.
Just below Rosaria’s texts are Diluc’s – with the last message being something along the lines of text me when you’ll get your stuff and nothing else.
Outside, you hear the usual commotion of elementary schoolers seeing their friends for the first time since summer vacation. A couple of loud shrieks, some gleeful chattering, and the occasional scolding tone here and there. It’s chaotic, but it helps distract you from that dreadful train of thought from earlier, still.
“Are you ready, miss?”
Barbara’s cheery tone startles you from your reverie, but she doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss when she flashes you the same smile she gave you the first time you met her. Your shoulders relax at the sight.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, tucking the documents under your arm as you make your way to the lounge entrance. “Can you tell Rosaria to come get me when she arrives?”
“Sure thing,” the TA chirps. “Anything else?”
The moment you slide the door open, the muted ruckus slaps you full blast in the face.
Kids are running around every which way – some with rumpled uniforms, and others with missing shoes. You can hear someone crying at the far end of the hall, but the sound is masked by louder shouts from the older kids.
You sigh, telling yourself that it shouldn’t be too bad, since you’ve gotten some exposure during summer classes. The regular term shouldn’t be too different – apart from the sudden influx of kids to look after.
Right?
“Wish me luck on my first day?” you ask Barbara so quietly, you doubt she’d even hear you.
Surprisingly, she does, but instead of the uplifting expression you expect her to maintain, Barbara’s smile stretches into something a bit…pitiful.
“Good luck, miss,” she says. “The lounge is open any time if you need a breather.”
Well…that’s not very reassuring.
“Got it,” you reply before forcing a smile of your own – wondering if this is how people felt before going into war thousands of years ago.
…
Okay, maybe that war analogy was a little over the top.
Upon further clarification with the rest of the faculty, it seems that the directions at the school gates got mixed up, and some students from Grade 2 were told to proceed to the second floor.
This is something you note with relief, since you don’t remember the older students being as rowdy as the kids waiting outside the second floor lounge.
The day starts off progressively easier once the students you’re meant to handle in Class Wolfhook have finally settled into their seats. Curious eyes still wander – familiar with the classroom’s layout, but not all of the kids they’re sitting together with. This crowd is definitely more tame than the second graders that got lost on this floor half an hour ago, and you take the news with a reassured breath.
You spot Klee at the back of the room – sporting dainty flowers in her twin braids. Cute. You wouldn’t even think that this little girl in particular is a magnet for unfortunate events. It makes you wonder if Jean purposely takes time to doll her up before sending her to school.
That aside, the first day consists of nothing much, aside from the same reminders about school rules and regulations, events that students are required to attend, and subjects that they’re expected to pass this term. You know that half of Class Wolfhook isn’t exactly paying attention, despite your clear effort at being that jolly homeroom adviser that you expect them to get along with easily. But talking without a consistent audience is an unspoken part of the job, so you do your best to reiterate everything you need to put out until it is time for them to be dismissed.
For security purposes, all students must be picked up by a legal guardian from their classrooms, so you have to stay behind until all of them have been safely fetched home. Rosaria chooses this time to drop by – complaining about a massive headache, and how it’s a miracle she even got to teach today’s Gym class without doubling over in the middle of a self defense instruction.
You respond with a giggle, promising that you won’t give her any avenues to get wasted on a work night anymore. She scoffs and says that you should quit being a pussy out of the remaining students’ earshot.
By three-thirty, you notice that Klee is the last one left – doodling something on her notebook without a care in the world. Concerned, you approach her, wondering if she's used to getting picked up late.
“Hey, Klee.” You smile, pulling the small chair next to hers so you can sit on it. “How’s your first day?”
She stares back at you with those bright, scarlet eyes – beaming. “It was great, teacher! I got to share snacks with Timmie and Flora. I haven’t seen them in a long time.”
You nod, eyes drifting to the drawing on her desk. The image is a little incomprehensible, but you do spot a character sporting an eyepatch frolicking in what seems like a field of flowers. A pirate, maybe? Speaking of flowers, though –
“Your hair is very pretty today,” you comment, fingers caressing the braids delicately. “Did Jean style for you?”
“Mmm, sometimes,” she murmurs while still scribbling some details onto her notebook. “But Miss Jean has been really busy at the station lately, so Big Brother Kaeya was the one who did my braids. Here he is!”
Klee lifts her notebook to show you the drawing directly, and you try not to look too confused as to why the person who braided her hair so prettily is wearing an eyepatch. You just met (read: slept with) someone wearing one last night, so you can’t really judge. Maybe it really is a trend you’re simply unaware about.
But now that you think about it, first there’s Jean. Then Albedo. This Kaeya person must be her third guardian – the one you’re yet to meet.
“That’s really nice of him then. Is he coming to pick you up?” you ask.
Klee nods, and just in time, her gaze seems to shift over your shoulder. Those pretty red eyes widen with surprise before she hastily stuffs her notebook and crayons back inside her bag.
“He’s over there!”
You turn around and catch the frame of a tall man walking past the front entrance of the classroom. It seems like he’s opting to enter from the back entrance, so you couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face. Nonetheless, you help Klee tidy her things up before ushering her to the exit.
“I really had lots of fun today, teacher,” she confesses with a shy yet giddy tone. “Are we going to do some more fun stuff tomorrow, too?”
You’re a bit flattered by her words, since homeroom wasn’t exactly that exciting. The teachers from her other classes must’ve had a lot of enjoyable things prepared, if Klee is suddenly giving you part of the credit.
“Sure thing,” you promise. “Now, you better get –”
“Hello. You must be Klee’s teacher.”
The moment that smooth voice hits your ears, you feel like an anvil has been dropped into the pit of your stomach. There’s nothing wrong, or even remotely inappropriate about what was said, but the muddled memories from an evening you never thought would haunt you again are forming ripples in the forefront of your mind.
“Good night, sweetheart.”
When you dare to face the man who came to pick up one of your most adorable yet troublesome students, he flashes you the same, conniving grin that bought his way straight into your bed.
“Oh?” he says, and you could’ve sworn those lush lips curled even more the moment he realized who he was talking to.
“Have we met before?”