You always said Diluc Ragnvindr was all fire and ice—fiery when it came to defending what mattered, but cold and unreadable when it came to anything remotely romantic. That’s what people thought, at least.

They didn’t see what you did.

They didn’t see him coming home from Angel’s Share at an ungodly hour, quietly kicking off his boots so he wouldn’t wake you. Or how he’d brush a kiss against your forehead while thinking you were asleep, whispering, “Sorry it’s so late…”

They didn’t see him in the morning, his crimson hair still damp from a quick rinse, eyes soft, asking if you’d slept well as he handed you your favorite tea—remembered exactly how you liked it, too.

And they certainly didn’t see him now, pressed against your back, arms loosely around your waist as you stood near the vineyards watching the sunrise. You had thrown on one of his coats—it practically swallowed you whole, but he made no move to take it back. In fact, he pulled it tighter around you.

“You should’ve stayed in bed,” he murmured against your ear, voice deep and a little hoarse.

“So should you,” you replied with a small smirk.

He only hummed, the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t say much—but the way he rested his chin on your shoulder, the way his thumb traced circles on your hip, and the way he looked at you like you were the most grounding thing in his world?

That said everything.