You’re laughing more than usual.
Cheeks warm. Words a little slower. Fingers a little bolder.
He notices immediately.
Not annoyed.
Just attentive.
You lean closer than normal. Your hand lingers on his chest. Maybe you murmur something soft and daring — something you’d usually overthink if you were sober.
Diluc’s eyes soften.
But his hands?
They stay respectful.
Grounded at your waist. Steadying you so you don’t stumble.
“You’ve had enough,” he says quietly.
You pout.
“I’m fine.”
You lean up as if to kiss him — not just a peck, but something deeper.
And he stops you gently.
Not pushing you away.
Just placing two fingers under your chin, tilting your face so you look at him properly.
“Not like this.”
There’s no frustration in his voice.
Just certainty.
Even if you’re married. Even if you’ve shared countless kisses before. Even if it’s innocent.
He will not let alcohol be the reason you cross any line.
“You will not wake up questioning yourself,” he says calmly.
He brushes his thumb across your cheek instead. Soft. Controlled.
“If you want me, you’ll want me clearly.”
That’s the difference.
He doesn’t deny you.
He protects you.
You grumble something about him being unfair.
A faint exhale leaves him — almost amused.
“If I take advantage of you while you cannot think properly,” he murmurs, leaning closer but stopping just short of your lips, “what kind of man would that make me?”
His forehead rests against yours instead.
He’ll carry you home if he has to.
Tuck you into bed.
Undo your shoes. Remove your jewelry carefully.
Maybe press one light kiss to your temple.
But nothing more.
And the next morning?
When you’re sober — clear-eyed — maybe a little embarrassed
He’ll remember.
You might shyly bring it up.
He’ll study you for a moment.
“Are you certain?” he’ll ask.
Only then will he lean in.
Slow. Intentional. Chosen.
And yes — he might even taste the faint memory of wine on your lips.
But this time?
It’s because you decided.
With Diluc, desire is never rushed.
And love is never careless.