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Flins does not visit Nasha Town often.
He doesn't need to, really—not when he remains duty-bound hundreds of miles North in the Final Night Cemetery in Paha Isle, and most especially not when his presence only seems to bring unease to the town's inhabitants. Such is the fate of an elusive man like himself.
Still, that doesn't mean the Lightkeeper finds the run-down town any less charming: being the region's main port, the seaside settlement is a hotspot for collectables of all sorts, and Flins himself holds a fascination for old coins and gemstones; the wine from The Flagship is perfectly attuned to his palate, cementing the tavern as a necessary stop in his itinerary anytime he finds himself in the area; and, more recently, certain characters who've made Nasha Town their home in Nod-Krai have been making his increasingly frequent visits all the more worthwhile.
Today, however, he finds himself on the path through Nasha Town, having just finished another one of Aino's engineering seminars at the Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop.
While he held his promise to the young girl's robot companion to not bring anything that could potentially prove distracting, it seems word of her insatiable sweet tooth has already spread to the other Ratniki, and the rest is history.
Sauntering through the town center, Flins does not particularly mind people's reactions to him, having already grown used to years of curious glances and hushed whispers. He hopes the bag of freshly-baked cookies hanging from his waist—courtesy of the Lightkeepers' barely concealed plot to distract the young inventress—helps ease people's worries, though.
As he passes by the town's famed Adventurer's Guild, he picks up a familiar sound. A voice. One that belongs to a certain golden-haired traveler.
"… longest I've seen."
He suddenly stops in his tracks, searching for the source. Following the sound, Flins eventually spots a head of sun-spun tresses by Rossum Workshop. Shining in the blinding daylight, as per usual. With enough time to spare for a conversation and perhaps even a couple of drinks, he decides to approach her.
Perhaps it's because of his ghostly demeanor and featherlight footsteps that the Traveler doesn't immediately take notice of his approaching presence. He's only a couple of meters from Lyulka's workshop when he picks up the sound of another voice.
"Really?" He recognizes the high-pitched voice as that of her floating companion. "Huh. Paimon didn't really notice. Well, it's not like she typically cares for that kind of thing, anyway."
"I swear," he hears the woman reply, "Flins's is huge."
He freezes.
Before he can process his actions, Flins uncharacteristically finds himself pressing his back against the side of a nearby building just outside of Lumine's peripheral.
It's not his usual self to eavesdrop—much less on someone he considers a friend, and perhaps even something more, if she permits it—but, simply put, he's curious. He did not typically let people get too close to him, nor did he usually confide in others his true nature as a fae, but the Traveler from afar is an exception. That begs the question:
What does she think of him? And, more importantly, what part of him exactly does she think is, quote unquote, "huge"?
Flins does not think himself tall enough to warrant being called "huge." Perhaps she's referring to something else? Even during the many years he's been masquerading as a regular human, his reclusive lifestyle still rendered him unable to fully grasp humanity's customs. He knows a couple of things, though; other than height, the only other thing he can think of as befitting such an adjective is—
His face burns at the implications. No, she can't possibly be talking about that, down there.
"I'd really love to know what it'd feel like in my hands. I haven't seen one that big since Zhongli's and maybe Cyno's," she continues. He sucks in a deep breath. Those are most certainly the names of other men. "Well, Cyno's isn't really that big. But it felt good in my hand, and the tip is thicker and wider than most."
Okay, so maybe she is talking about that.
At this point, had the Lightkeeper taken on his lantern form, his usually cool flame would be burning bright red, instead.
Again, Flins does not know much about anything outside of Nod-Krai and Snezhnaya, but even then, he finds it difficult to believe that any nation had normalized discussing such matters out in the open—and so casually, at that. He wonders: do people typically indulge in such acts where Lumine is from, and what does that exactly mean for someone as well-traveled as her?
“Oh, Paimon remembers Zhongli’s!” The white-haired pixie interjects. “Paimon thought it was massive the first time she saw it!”
“Right? I could barely wrap my hand around it." He blushes furiously, both guilt and embarrassment swirling in his chest at overhearing such obviously private details about her previous escapades. These are things he definitely does not have to know.
“It hurt a lot when he hit me with it, too.”
Choking on nothing but air and the incredibly inappropriate image of her he conjured in his head, Flins starts coughing, revealing his location to the Traveler and her companion. Stepping out of the shadows with a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and an almost feverish-looking blush on his cheeks, he approaches the workshop with as inconspicuous of a smile as he can muster.
“Oh, it's Flins!” Paimon points towards him, her expression changing almost insantly as she gets a better look at him, lopsided smile and all. "Woah. Paimon thinks you don't look too good. Are you okay?"
"I am quite alright. Just not used to this much sunlight is all," he explains, to which the fairy simply shrugs her shoulders, mumbling, "Oh-kaaay. Whatever you say."
"I didn't think you'd be in Nasha Town today," Lumine starts, the slightest shade of pink blooming beneath her lightly-freckled cheeks. "Actually, we were just talking about your p—"
"Spear," Flins cuts in, finding the word to be a suitable analogy for the genital of discussion. He'd rather not hear her say the word so bluntly, and in somewhere so out in the open. "You were talking about… spears."
Her eyes widen. "You heard?"
"I apologize." As courteous as ever, the Lightkeeper bows, placing a hand to his chest. "I truly did not mean to eavesdrop. I was simply passing by when the sound of your voice caught my attention, but I did not know when to approach you without interrupting your conversation."
"Oh, it's nothing to say sorry for, really," Lumine laughs, "About your spear, I was actually meaning to ask you something."
Lifting his head to meet her eyes, he quirks a brow. "Yes?"
“I know you’re probably not the type of person to just take it out that often…" Of course not. "But could you let me touch it? And, you know, play around with it a little…?"
The only appropriate reaction, Flins thinks, is to implode right then and there. The image is clear in his head: his lantern form combusts on the spot, its fire thrashing uncontrollably and its glass shattering in every direction imaginable.
Instead, he clears his throat, ignoring the uncomfortable heat pricking the back of his ears. "I, well—"
"Please?"
Just like that, he falls hook, line, and sinker.
"I-If you truly want to touch it that badly…!" Avoiding Lumine's burning stare, Flins stumbles backwards, nails curling into the ends of his sleeves. "Then visit me tonight at The Flagship. Alone, please." He lets out another shaky breath. "I will book a room for us. I… I will let you see it. And touch it, i-if you so wish."
He can't believe he's doing this.
He can't believe that she's so happy about it, either.
"Thank you so much!" She smiles from ear-to-ear, the sight so bright it causes his mind to stutter. "I'll see you tonight, then!"
Before Paimon can even complain about not being invited, he unhooks the bag of cookies from his belt and tosses it to her—a wordless bribe to let him have Lumine to himself, even if just for tonight. "Here. It's yours to keep, for I have no use for it."
Inspecting the Ratnik's humble offering, the fairy gives the bag of cookies a sniff. Her eyes instantly light up when she catches a whiff of butter and chocolate. "Oh, oh, oh! Tasty! Paimon knows what she's having for dessert tonight!"
Bidding the Traveler and her floating companion goodbye, Flins makes his way to The Flagship with a successful palm-greasing, a promise of a late-night rendezvous, and an infinitely weaker heart.
* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚
For the first time in his life, Flins doesn't know what to do with himself.
Tucked away in the corner of The Flagship and sipping on his nth glass of wine as he awaits the Traveler's arrival, he hopes downing a couple bottles of strong, hard liquor will give him enough liquid courage to face her.
Futile hopes for someone entirely immune to the effects of alcohol, really.
Amid the endless chatter of drunkards and adventurers hoping to make a quick buck by dealing in some intel, he hears the tavern's door creak open. Lifting his half-lidded eyes from the rim of his glass, Flins meets Lumine's gaze. With the moonlight casting a halo upon her head, she steps inside, then smiles.
Wow. She really does have a knack for catching him off-guard.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long," she says sheepishly as she scurries to his table, scratching the back of her neck. "I didn't think you'd be here so early."
"It's nothing to fret over," he hums, motioning for her to follow him as he stands up and strides to the counter. She follows suit, treading on his heels. Nodding at Demyan, Flins slides a couple of coins over to the bartender, the amount just enough to cover his drinks for the night. "I merely wanted to indulge in some liquor before our meeting."
Without access to any more alcohol and his thoughts still as clear as day, the Lightkeeper is, admittedly, out of options.
He clenches his fists, nails leaving crescent-shaped divets in the leather of his gloves. His chest already feels like it's burning, an indescribable heat building in the pit of his stomach. Turning his head to the shorter woman, he clears his throat. "So, I take it you are ready?"
Lumine responds with a determined smile. "As ready as can be!"
"Then," he offers his arm for her to take, which she gladly does, "I suppose we should head to our accommodation for the night."
With her arm looped around his, Flins finds that The Flagship's corridors feel unnecessarily long tonight as a certain awkwardness—one borne of inexperience—seeps into his person. Silence settles over them as they stalk the halls, searching for the Lightkeeper's room.
His mind is incessant, even as he unloops her arm from his, unlocks the door, and guides her inside. The door shuts itself behind them.
He might not be wholly familiar with the ins and outs of human relationships, but he's done enough research to know that these… sessions are typically preceded by other physical interactions. An exchange of spoken affections. Mouths crashing into one another. Limbs tangling together in a delicate dance.
Not knowing what to do next, he thanks Lumine for breaking the silence. "You know, I'm not really sure why you wanted to book a room," she confesses, looking around and noting the differences in interior from the suite Mondstadt's Grand Master had booked for her. "I would've been okay with doing this just outside Final Night Cemetery. I would've really loved a little tussle."
A little tussle? For heavens' sake, what kinds of things is Lumine into? And why is he here right now, in a room he booked himself, willing to put up with all her weird kinks simply because he doesn't want her approaching anyone else for her needs?
A deep red spreads across his cheeks as he coughs into his hand. "That would be most inappropriate," he says curtly. "Though the spirits are not exactly sentient by any means, it would still be best to not disturb their peace with… such acts."
Lumine nods. "I guess that makes sense."
Taking one last look at the room's amenities, she sighs. Whether it's out of dissapointment, relief, or something else entirely, he can't quite tell. Nor does he want to know, at this point.
The Traveler rounds the corner of the bed and plops herself right on top of the duvet, the mattress creaking underneath her weight. "Well, the room is okay. It's not like I really mind," she muses. She then shifts her attention to the man standing in front of her. "So… are you ready?"
Held firmly in place by Lumine's expectant gaze, Flins swallows thickly. "I— I suppose I am."
"Oh, I can't wait!" she gushes, her giddiness doing him no favors as he feels embarrassment searing deeper into his skin with each passing second.
Human customs dictate that one must first undress, or at least divest oneself of several layers of clothing, before proceeding with intercourse. He shudders at the thought. With his breath caught at the base of his throat, he begins to strip—first shrugging off his capelet, then unclasping his skirt from where it hung around his waist. He sets both articles neatly on the bed with ritualistic grace.
Just as Flins's hands hover above his belt, fingers trembling along the leather, he hears Lumine hum, "I've been wanting to ask you about your weapon for ages, but I haven't really been able to find the right time. I think your polearm's one of the coolest I've seen."
He stiffens.
His… weapon? His polearm?
"Pardon me, but may I clarify something?" he says abruptly, a bright red flaring across his cheeks. She cocks her head to the side, mild confusion crossing her face before she motions for him to continue. "By 'spear,' have you perhaps been referring to the one I use in combat?"
Her shoulders lift slightly. "Yes…?"
With that, he wants nothing more than for the ground beneath his feet to open up and swallow him whole.
Covering his face, Flins all but collapses onto the bed beside Lumine. Between the gaps in his fingers, she can see the feverish shade of red coloring his cheeks and the sweat forming on his temples. How cute. "I… I must apologize. I did not— I didn't—" he sputters, blushing profusely. "It appears I've misunderstood your intentions, a-and the purpose of our meeting tonight."
"What do you—"
It hits her like a ton of bricks: the perpetual shade of red that seemed to seep through his usually pale skin, the steadfast defense of his need for a private room, the undressing. Recounting their conversation with that in mind, she feels a light pink flowering across her own features. "Oh. Oh."
Now she understands why heat is practically rolling off of the Ratnik's body in waves.
If she thinks about it—and ignores just how ridiculous the scenario is—then it's quite adorable, really. To misinterpret a request to examine one's weapon as an invitation to spend the night together, and then proceed to treat it as something so special, so sacred.
It makes Lumine want to have a little bit of fun with him.
"You were really willing to do all of that? For me?" Lumine purrs, the teasing tilt in her voice enough to make the Lightkeeper grumble in embarrassment. She tugs on his sleeve, asking him to uncover his face, to which he obliges. Sighing, she trails her fingers along the length of his arm before ghosting over his gloved hand, her palm brushing against his knuckles. In a voice softer and more sincere, she says quietly, "You must like me more than I thought."
"Please, spare me the teasing," he groans. "I am embarrassed enough as it is."
"Well," she starts, "I still think you deserve at least this."
As she slips her hand into his much larger one, Lumine brushes to the side the strands of pale blue hair framing his face before taking his chin in between her supple fingers.
Flins's lips fall apart in a soft, breathy gasp as she turns his head to the side and presses a tender kiss to his cheek. It's chaste, fleeting, lasting no longer than a second, but it is his first. The feel of her lips against his skin sends a jolt of electricity through his entire body, an unfamiliar emotion swelling inside his chest.
She pulls away, acting uncharacteristically shy. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she giggles, "We'll do this step by step, yes?"
Flins sighs, the corners of his lips curling into the smallest of smiles.
"Yes, please."