It was supposed to be a joke. A joke. You were curled up on the couch in his office, watching him sort through the endless stack of paperwork when you said it with a playful smirk:

*“You’re such a walking red flag.”**•

But the moment the words left your mouth, you knew something was wrong.

Diluc froze. The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. His shoulders tensed, his entire body going still like you’d just slapped him. And then—without a word—he turned to you, took three careful steps, and knelt before you.

You blinked. “Wait—what are you doing?”

“I…” His voice was quiet, laced with uncertainty. “I didn’t mean to act improperly. Was it something I said? Or failed to say? If I’ve been—if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable, please tell me. I’ll correct it immediately.” His eyes searched yours, genuine concern swimming in that deep crimson gaze. “I only ever wanted to treat you with respect.”

You stared at him—this man—this gentleman of all gentlemen, kneeling before you like he’d just committed some awful offense.

Your chest tightened with guilt. “Diluc, oh my Archons, no—no, love, I didn’t mean it like that!”

You slipped down from the couch to kneel in front of him, cupping his face gently. “It was a joke. You’re not a red flag. If anything, you’re the whole green light.You’re the safest man I’ve ever known.”

His brows furrowed slightly. “Then… why would you say that?”

“Because you’re all stoic and broody and handsome and mysterious,” you teased, poking his cheek. “That’s textbook red flag aesthetic, but in reality? You’re the greenest flag alive.”

He didn’t respond right away—just leaned into your touch, closing his eyes with a slow exhale.

“…You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He still looked a little unsure, so you kissed his forehead. “I’ll stop joking like that.”

He nodded once, and the tension in his frame melted. Still, he stayed on his knees a little longer—just to hold you.