If there was something about Diluc, it was that this man was gentle—achingly so.

Despite the weight he carried, despite the fire that burned within him, his touch was never rough, never demanding. Especially when it came to you.

The way he kissed you was soft, almost hesitant, as if afraid he might break you. His lips brushed over yours with quiet reverence, never rushing, never overwhelming. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that set you ablaze; it was the kind that lingered, the kind that made you feel cherished in a way words never could.

Even after years together, that tenderness never faded. Every time he held you close, every time he leaned in, it was as if he was silently reminding you—I love you, I will always love you.

And perhaps that was what made his love so intoxicating. Not grand gestures, not fiery passion, but the simple, unwavering gentleness of a man who had lost too much—yet still chose to love you with everything he had.