Quiet trust

After Varka's return to Mondstadt, the familiar order quickly began to crumble. The Grand Master remained as loud, blunt, and insufferably self-assured as ever, while Fleance, on the contrary, preferred to keep to himself and get on with business without unnecessary conversation.
That's why their interactions almost always began with irritation.

"Are you working alone again?" Varka asked, spotting Fleance late in the evening.

• Because otherwise you will interfere.

• Of course.

Fleance looked at him wearily, but didn't argue. Varka had a knack for turning even a routine document check into a true adventure, but his recklessness concealed a considerate attitude. He noticed when Fleance went too long without rest, when he was quieter than usual, and when he tried to do everything himself.

Varka didn't pressure him. Instead, he simply stayed close, sometimes helping without being asked.
Fleance gradually grew accustomed to this trait. He might grumble, make comments, and insist he didn't need help, but he'd still leave a second cup of tea on the table.

Their relationship wasn't built on grand declarations, but on trust that developed slowly.
Varka respected Fleance's independence and didn't try to change his character. Fleance, in turn, saw Varka not only as a reckless master, but also as someone who would always have his back.

They rarely spoke directly about their feelings. They didn't need to. Sometimes a quick glance, a calm "I'm here," and the usual shared silence after a hard day were enough.

To those around them, they remained an odd pair, completely different people. But it was precisely this difference that allowed them to understand each other where words were no longer necessary.