You hadn’t even realized he was listening that evening. It had been a passing comment, really, more to yourself than to him—how the ink in your quill was starting to fade and how frustrating it was to write half-letters before having to fetch more. He hadn’t said anything, just hummed quietly from across the table, eyes lowered to his reports. You assumed the thought slipped away into silence.

The next morning, however, you found a small box on your desk. Inside lay a set of finely made quills and bottles of rich Mondstadt ink, each in shades you didn’t even know existed. A neat note rested on top: “You deserve tools that don’t fail you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d done something like this. A pair of gloves appeared last winter, just when your old ones had worn thin. A bouquet of flowers, gathered from Springvale, once showed up on your windowsill the morning after you’d sighed at the lack of color in the city. Each time, you hadn’t asked. Each time, you hadn’t thought he’d notice.

And yet he always did.

That night, you confronted him—not upset, but flustered, cheeks warm as you held the little box of quills. “Diluc… you don’t have to keep doing this. I can manage on my own.”

He didn’t glance up right away, polishing a glass at the counter in his quiet, meticulous way. But then his eyes lifted to yours, softened by candlelight. “I know you can. But why should you have to settle for less when it’s within my power to give you more?”

Your heart squeezed.

He set the glass aside, wiping his hands on a cloth before stepping closer. His movements weren’t grand, nor his words elaborate. Just steady. Certain. “I notice when something catches your eye. I notice when you sigh, or when you linger on a thing longer than you mean to. And if it makes you happy—” his voice dipped, low and tender “—then I want to give it to you. Not because you need it. Because you deserve it.”

The weight of that sincerity left you speechless. All you could manage was to reach for him, your fingers curling around his wrist. His free hand came up to cover yours instantly, warm and protective, as though even this small contact was worth treasuring.

And as always, the gift itself wasn’t the point. It was the way he looked at you now, quietly waiting, watching your smile form. That was the reward he sought—the one thing he’d never stop chasing.