Diluc was a man of action, especially when it came to you. The moment he found out you were sick, all else was forgotten. The winery, the tavern, even the Darknight Hero’s nightly patrols—none of it mattered more than ensuring your well-being.

The news had reached him through one of the maids when he was in the middle of a meeting. Without hesitation, he excused himself, leaving behind a room of bewildered merchants. By the time he arrived at your side, his usual composed demeanor had shifted to one of quiet worry.

You were curled up in bed, a faint sheen of sweat on your forehead and a tissue box beside you. The moment his eyes landed on you, Diluc’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides as if blaming himself for not being there sooner.

“How long have you felt like this?” he asked, his voice soft but insistent as he placed a cool hand on your forehead.

“Just a day or two,” you mumbled, trying to wave him off. “It’s nothing serious.”

But Diluc wasn’t convinced. He straightened up, already mentally listing remedies, meals, and medicines. Within minutes, he had the maids bringing in soup, fresh towels, and tea, though he made it clear to them that he’d handle most of it himself.

When he wasn’t preparing your meals or coaxing you to drink water, he was seated by your bedside, reading aloud in his calm, soothing voice to distract you from your discomfort. At one point, you weakly protested, saying, “You’re doing too much. Don’t you have work to do?”

His response was immediate, his crimson gaze unwavering as he said, “Nothing is more important than you. Let me take care of you.”

Even when he had to leave briefly to attend to urgent matters, he entrusted only the most capable maids to watch over you. He would check in constantly, sending messages to ensure you had everything you needed until he could return to your side.