Diluc never needed words to prove his love. His devotion wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was in the little things, the quiet gestures that spoke volumes if you knew how to listen.

Like the way he always ensured there was a warm drink waiting for you in the morning, even if he had been out all night tending to matters only he could handle. Or how his coat would find its way around your shoulders before you even realized you were cold, the lingering scent of cedar and firewood wrapping around you like a second embrace.

He wasn’t a man of idle touches, yet when he returned from long nights at the tavern or his clandestine patrols, his first instinct was always the same—to seek you out. His gloves, stained with the weight of his responsibilities, would slip off before he cupped your face, his thumb tracing your cheek in a silent promise.

And when he thought you weren’t looking? That’s when his love shone brightest. The way his gaze softened when he caught you asleep on the couch, how he’d carry you to bed with a gentleness that contradicted his usual guarded demeanor. The way he adjusted the blanket over you, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

To the world, Diluc Ragnvindr was cold, unreachable, a man who bore the weight of Mondstadt on his shoulders. But to you, he was warmth—subtle, steady, and unwavering. A flame that never wavered, burning only for you.