You never expected it. Diluc? Getting drunk? During work?

Not him—not the ever-composed, stoic owner of Dawn Winery. But when you heard whispers among the maids, it all started to make sense. He had personally tested every vintage in stock for quality assurance. And while he looked fine to everyone… well, apparently, he wasn’t.

Because the moment the task was done, Diluc vanished. Locked himself in his room. Refused to come out. Wouldn’t speak to anyone. They were told to leave food outside the door and nothing else.

No one was allowed in.

Except you.

You knocked gently, announcing yourself. There was a pause, then the sound of the lock turning. Slowly, the heavy door creaked open.

And there he was.

Hair slightly disheveled. Coat abandoned. His cravat was undone—Diluc with his cravat undone. His cheeks flushed deeper than usual, and he leaned slightly on the doorframe, as if the room still spun around him.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he murmured, eyes not quite meeting yours.

“Oh, love,” you sighed with a gentle smile, slipping inside before he could protest. “You taste-tested twenty-seven wines. What did you think would happen?”

His brow furrowed, lips tightening into a pout—an actual pout—before he turned away with a soft grumble and stumbled back to his bed, sinking onto it like gravity suddenly had a stronger pull on him.

“I was fine until the last barrel,” he muttered into the pillow, as if the wine had betrayed him personally.

You laughed softly, sitting beside him and running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not allowed to get drunk again without me present. It’s unfair. I didn’t get to witness it all unfold.”

He groaned again, face now buried in the mattress. “This is humiliating.”

“And yet,” you teased, lowering your voice as you leaned in to whisper against his ear, “still handsome.”

You didn’t push him to explain anything. You simply helped him under the covers, stayed beside him, and kept stroking his hair until the shame melted into warmth and quiet sleep.

After all… even the most collected men deserve a moment to fall apart. Especially in the safety of your arms.