The tavern is louder than usual.

Laughter. Glasses clinking. A few unfamiliar faces lingering a little too long.

You try to stay composed at first. You really do.

But when someone calls out to you from across the room voice a little too bold, eyes a little too curious your confidence flickers.

And instinctively, you move.

One small step.

Then another.

Until you’re standing directly behind Diluc Ragnvindr.

Your fingers lightly hook into the back of his coat.

He doesn’t look at you.

Doesn’t ask.

But he feels it.

His shoulders straighten subtly. His stance widens just enough that his broad frame completely blocks you from view. From the front, it almost looks like he’s alone.

“Was there something you needed?” he asks evenly.

His voice isn’t sharp.

Just calm. Controlled.

The person shifts awkwardly under his gaze.

You peek out from under his arm, just slightly. Enough to see. Enough to be seen if you choose.

Diluc notices.

Without drawing attention, he lowers his arm a fraction — creating that small, sheltered space beneath it. A quiet arch of protection.

You hide there shamelessly.

When the person tries to lean a little to the side to look past him, Diluc steps — smooth and deliberate — cutting off the angle completely.

You feel ridiculous.

But safe.

Your fingers clutch his coat a little tighter.

His hand drifts back behind him, finding yours without searching. He squeezes once.

Grounding.

The conversation ends quickly. It always does when he speaks like that.

When the room settles and the person walks away, he doesn’t immediately move. He lets you stay there, tucked behind him.

After a moment, he turns slowly — and you instinctively press forward instead, burying your face against his chest this time.

He exhales softly, one hand coming to rest at your lower back, the other brushing gently over your hair.

“You do not need to force yourself,” he murmurs quietly.

“I wasn’t forcing…” you mumble against him.

A faint hum of disbelief vibrates in his chest.

“If you prefer my shadow,” he says, tone softer now, “then use it.”

You look up slightly.

He brushes his thumb against your cheek.

“But you may stand beside me whenever you wish. I will remain there.”

It’s not dramatic.

Not possessive.

Just steady.

And when someone else approaches later that evening?

You slip behind him again without hesitation.

And like always

He adjusts.

Every single time.