You had a habit of appearing where you weren’t expected.

Sometimes it was Angel’s Share—slipping into a seat at the counter while Diluc was working, chin in your palm as you watched him mix drinks like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He always noticed you immediately. Always paused just a second longer than necessary before continuing.

Other times, it was the manor.

And more often than not—it was the vineyards.

Harvest season made everything busier. Ladders lined the rows, baskets filled with apples and grapes, staff moving efficiently under Diluc’s quiet supervision.

And then there was you.

Climbing ladders you absolutely had no business climbing.

The staff spotted you first, of course.

“Miss—” “Careful, please—” “We were told to keep an eye on you—!”

You waved them off with a grin, reaching for fruit like you belonged there. And somewhere down the row, Diluc felt it—an instinctive pull, a shift in the air.

He found you every time.

“…You’re not supposed to be doing that,” he said calmly, though his hand was already bracing the ladder.

You smiled down at him. “I’m helping.”

A sigh. Resigned. Fond.

He never scolded you in front of the staff. Never embarrassed you. He just stayed close afterward—closer than necessary—harvesting beside you, one row to himself so you wouldn’t get in the way.

That’s when you liked him best.

Sometimes you’d crouch down beside him, call his name softly until he looked up—and lean in to kiss him, quick and warm. Sometimes you stayed. Sometimes you disappeared right after, leaving him blinking and mildly stunned in the sunlight.

Other times, you tackled him outright—laughing as you caught him off guard, sending both of you into the grass between rows. He caught you easily, of course, holding you there with an exasperated huff that didn’t hide his smile.

At Angel’s Share, your affection was quieter.

You slipped up behind him while he worked, arms wrapping around his waist, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades. He stiffened for half a second—then relaxed, one hand reaching back to rest over yours.

“Working,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said, not moving.

He let you stay.

And when you weren’t touching him, you watched—admiring the way he measured, poured, stirred. The focus. The grace. The quiet confidence.

He always glanced up to meet your eyes.

You were never a distraction to him.

You were the reminder that life wasn’t just duty and solitude.

You were the small, warm presence weaving joy into his routine—the reason the staff smiled more, the reason the vineyards felt livelier, the reason Diluc Ragnvindr occasionally forgot to be so serious.

You were his little sparkle.

And he guarded that spark with his life.