Diluc is... not used to being doted on.

He’s a man of walls—emotional ones, thick and tall, reinforced with years of solitude and quiet grief. So when you showed up in his life, all warmth and persistence, something inside him didn’t quite know how to respond.

It started small.

A hug from behind while he poured drinks at the tavern. A kiss pressed between his shoulder blades as he stirred your tea. A gentle crawl into his lap while he read in bed, your body curling into his like it was where you belonged.

And it was.

But every single time?

He froze.

Not in rejection—never in rejection.

Just in sheer, quiet shock.

Because you—in all your affection and ease—were doing something no one else had ever done:

You treated him like he was someone who deserved softness.

The first time you hugged him mid-shift at Angel’s Share, arms around his waist, cheek resting on his shoulder, he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. You giggled. He didn’t even breathe.

You whispered, “Just a minute,” and he nodded stiffly, unsure whether to keep working or to lean into your hold.

He didn’t move. Not until you let go.

And even then, his fingers brushed the spot where your arms had been, as if trying to keep the imprint.

You weren’t shameless about it.

You always checked his mood first. Always read the tension in his brow or the quiet in his tone. But on nights when he was particularly stressed—when he came home late, dragging invisible burdens—you just climbed into his lap and nestled close.

And his heart?

That poor man’s heart couldn’t handle it.

You were warmth personified. Sunshine in human form. You kissed his cheek over and over until he sighed, dropped his book, and wrapped his arms around your waist like it was instinct.

It was instinct now.

He didn’t know how to ask for this. Didn’t know how to want like that without guilt.

But you taught him.

You taught him that being needed and being wanted were not the same.

He’d spent years being Mondstadt’s protector, the Ragnvindr heir, the responsible one. But you made him feel like a man. A partner. Someone worthy of being held just because.

Some nights, when the fire burned low and your breathing slowed against his chest, he’d stare at the ceiling and think:

Is this what peace feels like?

You didn’t ask much of him.

Just his hand. His warmth. His time.

And he gave it all without hesitation—even if his ears burned red the entire time you whispered compliments against his throat.

Diluc never said it aloud, but you knew:

You were the only one who ever made him feel wanted.

And gods help him—he’d never let you go.