Diluc was a man of tradition. Not because he tried to be — but because it was simply who he was at his core.

He believed in quiet respect, steady affection, loyalty that didn’t need to be spoken every day. And when he loved someone… he showed it in ways that felt almost rare in the modern world.

So the first time it happened, you thought you were imagining it.

You stepped out of your workplace after a long, exhausting day — ready to walk home, head full of stress — only to freeze at the sight waiting for you on the steps.

Diluc.

Straight-backed. Composed. Dressed impeccably, coat draped just right.

And in his gloved hands…

A bouquet. Real, fresh, beautifully arranged flowers — clearly chosen carefully, not randomly bought. Something that matched your taste perfectly.

He glanced up the second he sensed you, the faintest pink dusting his ears. “It’s late,” he said softly, clearing his throat. “I thought it would be better if I accompanied you home.”

As if the flowers weren’t already giving him away.

You approached, heart fluttering, and he held them out to you — but he didn’t simply hand them over. No. He stepped closer, bowed his head just a little, and offered them with both hands like it was something sacred.

A gesture from another era.

“I… hope you like these,” he said, voice low. “I tried to choose what suited you best.”

And when you took them, his shoulders visibly eased — like your smile alone could take the weight of the world off of him.

He moved to your side immediately after, offering his arm in that perfectly gentleman way. Not possessive. Not showy. Just respectful, protective, and quietly devoted.

As you started walking home together, he matched your pace effortlessly — even slowing his long strides for you. Every so often, his fingers brushed yours, hesitant, like he wanted to hold your hand but didn’t want to startle you.

“This is… what courting means to me,” he admitted at one point, eyes on the path ahead. “Being present. Walking you home. Making sure you know you’re valued.”

And then, softer — almost shy:

“If you’ll allow me… I’d like to keep doing this.”

A man of ancient manners. A knight without a title. Someone who would wait outside your workplace every day if you wanted — rain, wind, or dusk — just to make sure you never had to walk home alone.

Because to him, love wasn’t loud. It was loyal. Steady. Unshakable.

And Diluc Ragnvindr was a man who loved like that.