It’s just past midnight, and the manor is asleep.

But Diluc isn’t.

He lies beside you in bed, propped up on one elbow, the sheets pulled up over your waist. The candle on the bedside table burns low, its flame soft and golden, casting flickers of light across your skin — across the gentle swell of your belly.

You shift slightly in your sleep, murmuring something he can’t quite catch, and his hand moves instinctively, steady, reverent, to soothe over your bump. His fingers glide slowly across your skin, tracing the shape of the life growing inside you.

It never stops amazing him. Not during the quiet nights like this. Not when he catches a soft flutter beneath his palm. Not when he sees you smile down at your belly with tired joy. And especially not when he catches his own reflection in the nursery mirror, cradling your stomach like it’s made of glass.

He never imagined this would be his life. Not after the years of blood and fire. Not after burying his father and himself in the same stretch of time. But you… you gave him this future — warm and quiet, humming with love in all the small, unspoken ways.

Diluc leans down, brushing a soft kiss against your stomach.

“Good evening, little one,” Diluc whispers, lips brushing the curve of you. His voice is barely above breath. “You’ve been keeping your mother awake again, haven’t you?”

You stir then, your eyes blinking open, bleary and soft. “Are you talking to my belly again?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Diluc chuckles low in his chest. “Guilty,” he admits, brushing hair away from your cheek. “They kicked just now. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You’re already so smitten,” you say, smiling as you cover his hand with yours.

Diluc’d expression softens, gaze flicking between your face and the place where your hands rest together. “How could I not be?” he murmurs. “You’re both everything to me.”