When Something Breaks

Denial

1.

The destruction of Mondstadt left hundreds of citizens homeless.

This was the first time in a month where Jean had an opportunity to sleep more than a few hours before work again, and there was something heavy pressing down on her chest. The weight was crippling in such a way that Jean was rendered immobile to the point where even the twitching of a finger felt like something foreign and impossible.

It was painful, breathing as heavily as she is. Jean wondered how much longer it would take for death to crush her fragile heart. Her heart has been hollowed out from blood itself, and Jean did not realise how empty it felt until this moment.

She struggled through great agony to press a hand to hover over her frozen heart. Perhaps she had died already. How death was so painful Jean did not know.

Jean's eyes slipped shut as her tired mind bordered between the realm of consciousness and sleep. Briefly, she wondered why the hollowness in her chest expanded to a point beyond her control. But Jean was so tired she could feel soreness deep into her bones, and her tortured body pulled her into a blissful, dreamless slumber.

The next morning, Jean stirred just before the sun as she always did. By the time the sun begun to rise, she was well into her first document of the day.

At noon, despite her growling stomach, Jean continued to press on with work until it was well past two o'clock. She did not realise the descent in her efficiency caused by the flickering of her own gaze to the office door that was supposed to open an hour ago with the pleasant aroma of good food.

She did not expect Barbara of all people to come into her office with a dinner basket six hours past noon. She was delighted that her sister cared for her well-being, but Jean found that the skewers Barbara had brought tasted off. When asked about her frown, Jean was unable to specify her confusion. "It's delicious, it really is," she said, honest but battling an internal torrent all the same. "I guess it's just not what I'm used to."

Barbara looked like she wanted to cry.

Jean felt horrible.

Barbara came back the next day around the same time with another basket of skewers. "Sara made these ones," she said. "I hope they're better."

They weren't. But Jean remembered the distraught look on Barbara's face the previous day and decided to refrain from commenting this time. It didn't seem to help. Barbara left her office that evening with a drag to her footsteps.

Nonetheless, her sister came back every day with a new basket of skewers in hand. Every batch is made by a different person. The Traveller's ended up being the most satisfying to the taste in Jean's memory, but they were still not right.

So when Jean collapsed out of exhaustion a week later and was put on forced bed rest for a month, she was determined to figure out the issue. One, two, three tries later, and still something was missing from the skewers that she couldn't quite place. Perhaps it was because she was a horrible cook in the first place, but the emptiness of defeat dug at Jean's heart. She cried out in frustration and clenched the kitchen counter, shaking in despair she could not place.

A knock from her front door shocked her awake from her stupor. And Jean found Diluc Ragnvindr holding a basket of skewers behind her door. "Can I come in?" He asked weakly, voice soft and hoarse, as if he had been crying for many many days. Jean examined him up and down and wanted to cry.

Dark purple half moons circled bloodshot, haunted eyes. His usually vibrant red mane was dull and dead. And Diluc's smile was so fragile the only word Jean could use to describe it would be broken.