Diluc appreciated many things about you—your warmth, your patience, your stubborn affection. But if there was one thing he was gently, constantly against, it was how you insisted on waking up before him just to help him prepare for the day.

The bitter Dragonspine winds still seeped into the mansion in the early hours, and there you were, barely awake, bundled in the coat he purposely chose—the thickest, warmest one he owned. It swallowed you whole, the sleeves dangling past your hands, the collar nearly reaching your chin, but you refused to sit down. You tried to fix his tie, but your heavy eyelids betrayed you, and you swayed forward, nearly dozing off on his chest.

He caught you, of course. With steady hands and an amused sigh, he held you by the shoulders and looked down at the sleepy woman clinging to routine in her own way.

“You don’t need to do this every day,” he murmured once, brushing your hair from your face. “You need your rest.”

But you only mumbled something incoherent and stubborn, eyes closed, cheek pressing against his vest.

So, he compromised—not that he’d admit it aloud. He started waking just a little later, slowing down his own routine so you wouldn't have to rise so early. And if that meant being five minutes late leaving the manor, so be it. Because in his heart, nothing felt quite as grounding as seeing you half-asleep and swaddled in his coat, tugging on his collar with frozen fingers that he always made sure to warm.

After all, wasn’t that what love looked like for him? Quiet, persistent, and just a bit ridiculous at dawn.