In a world full of men who mistook arrogance for strength, Diluc stood apart. A gentleman — measured, composed, unshakably polite. But beneath that calm exterior was a man who could lose all sense of restraint when it came to you.

You were his exception. His undoing. His priority.

That’s why, every time he came home and you greeted him with a kiss, he reacted the same way — stiff at first, caught completely off guard, his breath hitching like he’d forgotten how to exist in moments like this. His hands would hover uselessly in the air for a second, unsure of where to go, until you guided him — until he finally gave in.

You were always the one to start it. The one who closed the distance, who pressed against him, who tipped his face down for a kiss he never had the heart to deny. He’d follow your lead each time, hesitant but sincere, his lips moving against yours as if learning the rhythm anew.

He was dense in the sweetest way — not clueless, but simply too respectful, too cautious, as if afraid that wanting you too much would break some unspoken rule. If you didn’t make the first move, he wouldn’t move at all.

And oh, how you adored that man.

You were the passionate one, the bold one, the demanding one — the one whose wandering hands and eager lips often caught him entirely off guard. Sometimes, you could see the exact moment his composure cracked: the sharp breath he drew when your fingers brushed his collarbone, the way his eyes darkened when you tugged at his tie, the faint tremor in his voice when you whispered his name.

Poor man. He never quite knew how to handle you — or maybe he did, but refused to admit how much he loved being handled by you.

When your hands slipped too quickly beneath his shirt or your lips pressed too eagerly against his neck, his instinct was always the same: a firm hand around your wrist, not to stop you, but to slow you down. A silent reminder that he needed a second — that he was still catching up to your fire. His touch was never harsh, just steady. Reassuring. Almost pleading.

You could tell by the way his heart raced under your palm that your kisses left him breathless every time. Maybe he did get little heart attacks from them — that quiet panic of wanting more but being too much of a gentleman to ask for it.

Still, when you leaned close, whispered something soft against his skin, when he could feel that you meant it — every hesitation melted.

Because if it was you, if it was something you wanted, if every movement came from consent and care — then Diluc would follow you anywhere.

And he always did.