Of course Diluc Ragnvindr was busy. Of course he had responsibilities. Of course he was always composed, serious, and sharp-eyed behind the bar.

But even then… he was still your Diluc.

The same man who didn’t like overcrowded taverns, who disliked drunks, who refused chaos — yet he still let you tag along every night you didn’t want to be alone in that massive winery.

He didn’t say much at first. He didn’t object either. He simply stood there polishing glasses, mixing drinks, giving orders to Charles… while you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, like the clingiest little koala.

And he let you.

He worked with your chin resting between his shoulder blades, your fingers loosely hooked around his belt, your cheek pressed into his back. No one dared comment. Most of them were too scared of him anyway.

Every so often, he’d pause mid-task to glance back at you.

His thumb would brush your cheek. “Are you cold?”

A gentle touch on your forehead. “Feeling sleepy already?”

Or sometimes his voice would soften in that rare way he reserved only for you: “Do you want me to bring you something to eat? I’ll take you to the guest room if you’re tired.”

You always shook your head and hugged him tighter. “No. I want to stay with you.”

And Diluc… he should’ve told you to sit. Your Place Is Behind Me. rest. Or keep distance so he could work.

But instead he adjusted his stance so you could cling more comfortably.

Later, when the crowd dwindled and the tavern grew quieter, he reached back, fingers seeking yours.

“You must be exhausted,” he murmured. “Come. I’ll take you upstairs.”

And he walked you to that little guest room above the tavern — not the winery, not your home, but a place where he could keep you close while he finished the night.

Before leaving, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering more than he meant to.

“Sleep well. I’ll join you soon.”

Because yes — he may be a stoic businessman. A busy man. A respected (and feared) Master of Dawn Winery.

But he was also the man who let you cling to him for hours behind the bar. The man who silently checked on your comfort with every break in his work. The man who wanted you close, even on the busiest nights.

Your place, to him, was right behind him — arms around his waist, cheek on his back, safe and warm.