[ Another twist in her stomach. He doesn't know how true it is? What exactly is he saying? Surely he doesn't think himself genuinely attracted to her. Only an idiot would allow that of themselves, especially one like himself in the upper echelons of Mondstadt's society. She's a Lawrence, she's tainted by her family's blood, and—

The color drains from her face as quickly as it filled it, and Eula puts a steadying hand to her head. No. She's the idiot. It's clear that Diluc meant in general, not with her.

Of course.

She swallows hard against something that feels remarkably like disappointment; her lips part, trying to find some kind of answer, something to say that doesn't sound as pathetic as she feels while still making herself clear, still expressing that it's okay for him to handle things the way he does—

(An urge to comfort, something she's sure she's never quite felt before)

—but he keeps talking, and her eyes widen, and once again the color rushes to her face. ]

What?

[ She said that out loud, didn't she? There's an internal wince, another swallow against the feeling in her throat— so suddenly something more like fear— and a deep breath, her hand scrabbling to wrap around her Vision as if somehow it will help her summon up the ice she needs to protect against her feelings.

How did feelings even come into this?

(It's the cold. It's just the cold.) ]

Ragnvindr. I'm... [ another breath ] I'm hardly precious, so I would thank you to stop treating me as such. Nor do you need to worry about my feelings.

[ She might, but she's not about to trouble him with that. ]

I'm cold. We both are.

[ They're both lonely, too, her brain reminds her (un)helpfully. She bats the thought away. ]

I'm not saying [ oh god will her mouth stop moving ] we have to do anything about it, but... at the very least, you don't have to worry about me.