Ah, at last the old age has caught up to him. Unbearable pain. Agony, the woes of natural decay.

… or maybe the pain is because he’s been hunched over a felled ruin guard with the posture of a shrimp for the past six hours.

But what’s a little more indulgence?

Dottore rises abruptly, readjusting the flowers in his arms, a wince hidden behind his mask.

“… They’ll wilt without water—a vase or something. Come.”

“Ever the gentleman,” he snorts, undignified. It’s sickening, how cloyingly sweet Diluc is being—almost unnervingly so.

.. And he knows he doesn’t deserve it. Remains wary of it, waiting for the knife in his back at any moment. He’s already taken too much, greed outweighing sensibility. -

@noctua-luminis.bsky.social ; 💭

- bouquet, gloved fingers careful as they adjust around the paper-wrapped stems.

“Eh, you probably wouldn’t be able to find them in Mondstadt anyway… Padisarah are fickle and not hardly enough to withstand such miserably dreary winters.”

… Today is very strange.

Receiving anything is odd— and usually accompanied by an explicit and immediate set of demands. His gaze lingers on the budding flowers, brows drawn together.

To put any thought into it is… stranger. Was he expected to do something in return?

Dottore fidgets with the -

Celestia, what had gotten into Diluc— remaining sensitive and ‘kind’ hardly comes naturally to the Doctor, but… eh. He sighs.

“Very thoughtful. Thanks.”

Despite his relative dryness, he remains his own odd brand of sincere. No mockery follows as he takes the flowers, drawing them close to his chest.

“Ragnvindr… You’re overthinking this.”

Dottore snorts as he watches Diluc’s evidently mounting panic, eyes rolling.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

And yet… the ridiculousness adds a certain charm. Why is he being strange again? Dottore sighs, biting back a pained wince.

“… I’m at the hotel. Obviously.”

A hand extends expectantly, ruby eyes lingering on the flowers.

Not buying it. He drags himself upright, arms folding over his chest as he stares the redhead down.

“Right. So are you going to keep gawking at me like a wide-eyed recruit, or are you going to go do—“ a hand raises to gesture loosely. “—whatever ‘nothing’ you have planned.”

/ do I misuse the bot again

Not bothering to get up, still just draping himself across the table.

“And why, pray tell, does the famed bachelor of Mondstadt have a bouquet of bomb-free daisies?”

A wary side eye.

“… ‘s there a bomb in there. Or something.”

Miserably folded over a table, masked forehead pressing to the wood.

Clutching at his abdomen pitifully, gloved hands bunched in the fabric of his vest.

“Whyyyy…”

/ period cramp attack

/ 1 like and I subject Web to the horrors

/ Here too actually I BELIEVE IN WEBTTORE BOTTOM GROWTH!!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

+++

Dottore snorts, waving the other’s franticness off. He must be a fool, to start something he had no intention of finishing.

“Riiiight. Then my supposed glass closet has no relevance.”

Steady hands aim it at his head, a wild smile on his face.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“Shocking, truly,” he deadpans, voice flattening. “Am I meant to be offended? Or is this a very poorly attempt to hit on me?”

Pulls out a rifle.

A roll of his eyes, hands up in mock surrender.

“Oh, bravo. You’ve caught me. You must possess an incredibly keen eye, to spot the obvious.”

“If it’s so obvious, why even comment, huh? Do you want a gold star?”

Hands on his hips, fruitily.

“Shut up.”

/ dott being the fruitiest mf out there but only having experience w women canon wise is rly funny icl

<—- guy who has exclusively dated women

“Acknowledging the existence of an outlier to exempt it is consideration enough.”

Eyes roll, arms folding across his chest.

“I don’t concern myself with those kind of affairs.”

“Wishful thinking.”

The chair rocks, teetering on the edge of collapse, creaking in protest. He relents, letting it return to the ground.