The winery is silent when he returns.

The halls are dim, lit only by the low glow of lanterns and moonlight filtering through tall windows. Most would think the matter finished—the argument resolved, apologies exchanged, peace restored.

Diluc doesn’t.

He pauses outside your door, hand hovering just above the wood. For someone so decisive, he hesitates—because what weighs on his chest now is not anger, but worry he cannot quite silence.

He knocks softly.

“…Are you awake?”

When you answer, the door opens slowly. He doesn’t step in right away, as if giving you space, eyes scanning your face first—checking. Always checking.

“I wanted to be sure,” he says, voice low, stripped of all sharpness. “That you were resting. That I didn’t… leave things unfinished.”

He notices the smallest things—the way your shoulders are no longer tense, the steadiness of your breathing. Only then does he allow himself to exhale.

“I keep thinking,” he admits, stepping closer now, “that perhaps I frightened you earlier. That is not something I ever wish to do.”

His hand reaches out, stops, then settles gently over yours—warm, grounding, familiar.

“I am not angry,” he repeats, as if reassuring himself as much as you. “I was afraid. And fear makes even the most disciplined man falter.”

The silence between you is comfortable. Intimate.

Diluc finally pulls you into his chest, one arm firm around your back, the other resting protectively at your waist. His chin rests lightly against the top of your head.

“I know you are strong,” he murmurs. “I know you can protect yourself.” A pause. “But allow me to worry anyway. It is how I love.”

His thumb traces slow, absent circles, a habit he doesn’t even realize he has.

“Sleep,” he whispers. “I will be nearby. If you need me… you know I will come.”

And when he finally lets go, it’s only after ensuring you’re settled—after one last glance, one last silent promise to himself.

He doesn’t leave because he has doubts.

He leaves because he trusts you.

And because loving you means watching over you—even when the night is quiet.