There was something undeniably cute about Diluc. No, not just his looks—though, let’s be honest, the man was unfairly handsome. No, it was how he let you get away with so much and yet still kept that quiet, commanding presence that reminded everyone who he was.

You? You could do pretty much whatever you wanted.

Take over his side of the bed? Done.
Steal his coat when it was cold? He’d drape it over your shoulders before you even asked. Pout until he let you drag him to town for a walk he clearly didn’t have time for? Already reaching for his gloves.

Spoiled? Oh, absolutely. But not in a careless way. Diluc had a way of giving you everything without letting you forget his strength, his grounding. He was your calm in chaos—and occasionally the reason your chaos didn’t go too far.

Still, it was the little things that made your heart melt.

Like how, when you stood on your toes and asked for headpats, he didn’t hesitate. If you wanted to ruffle his hair, he’d lean down—or sometimes even kneel—just to let you reach. No protest, no teasing. Just that small, amused smile he reserved only for you, and a quiet, “Is this enough?” as you ran your fingers through his crimson hair.

He was taller, older, and the owner of the Dawn Winery—respected by many, feared by some.

But to you?

He was just Diluc. The man who knelt for headpats. Your gentle giant.