Diluc had always been a man of quiet strength, of unwavering discipline. But when it came to love—your love—he was a man of hesitance, of shy glances and occasional cluelessness.

Even after years of being together, he still found himself taken aback when you showed him affection. A simple kiss on the cheek could make him freeze for a second, his ears dusted pink. A casual "I love you" whispered in passing would have him clearing his throat, pretending to be occupied with his work. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you—if anything, he loved you more than he knew how to express.

It was understandable, really. He had grown up without a mother’s warmth, lost his father in the cruelest way, and spent years hardening himself against the world. Romance, softness, vulnerability—these things had no place in his carefully constructed walls. And yet, here you were, breaking them down piece by piece.

You never rushed him. You never pushed. Instead, you simply loved him, patiently and unwaveringly. And little by little, he learned to love in return—not just through protective gestures and quiet acts of care, but by allowing himself to be loved.

So, when you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his jaw one evening as he was reviewing documents, he stiffened for only a second before exhaling softly. His hand found yours, squeezing it gently.

“…Thank you,” he murmured, his voice quiet but full of meaning.

Not just for the kiss. Not just for your presence.

But for staying, for loving him despite everything.