There was something about him you never got tired of—maybe it was the quiet steadiness in the way he carried himself, the kind of presence that filled a room without demanding attention. Diluc was not loud, not dramatic. He was simply there.Solid. Reliable. A man you could lean on without fear of him faltering.

So when your day dragged on, exhaustion pulling at your shoulders, you found yourself gravitating toward him. No words were needed—he noticed the heaviness in your steps before you even spoke. The moment you came close, he opened an arm, inviting you wordlessly into his space.

You leaned against him, the familiar scent of smoke, oak, and faint wine wrapping around you like a blanket. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, calm, steady—like he was lending you his strength just by existing.

Without hesitation, his lips brushed your forehead in a feather-light kiss. That was all. No fuss, no questions. Just a simple, grounding gesture that said more than words ever could: I’m here. You’re safe. You can rest.

And yet, the irony was that even after the hardest nights, when the weight of the winery and Mondstadt itself pressed down on him, he still offered you that comfort. Even when he was the one carrying too much, Diluc never pulled away.

Because that was the kind of man he was—the kind you could lean on endlessly. A mature man who bore his own burdens quietly, but always made space to carry yours too.