Diluc
He was forced to look after you.
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
You knew Diluc as an uncle who was always sullen, busy, and definitely not emotional. And your mother, Jinn, was good with him. However, this time, she had a lot of work to do.
They left Diluc with you without explanation. They simply sat him down next to you, shoved a box of paints into his hand, and left, as if it were the most natural thing to do. He sat up straight, tense, as if expecting an attack, and you were too small to feel awkward.
You sat next to him, swinging your legs.
He froze. Slowly looked at the stain. Then at you. You chose the brightest colors. The paint smelled sharp and sweet, and the brush was larger than your palm. The first stain appeared on his sleeve. Diluc flinched, but didn't stop you. He simply exhaled slowly and allowed you to continue. The paints settled one after another: on his cloak, on his gloves, on his cheek. You carefully applied them, frowning in concentration, sometimes smearing them yourself. Diluc watched this process, gradually losing his tension. His movements became softer, and he moved closer to give you a better reach. At some point, he picked up the brush. Hesitantly, as if he didn't know what to do with it. But his hand didn't shake, and a neat mark appeared on your cheek, almost a symbol, not a drawing. The paint was warm, and you froze contentedly.
You sat next to him, swinging your legs.
–We're going to paint,you said cheerfully, thrusting a brush into his hand. Diluc sighed.
–I don't…he began, but you had already dipped the brush in blue paint and drawn a line down his glove.
He froze. Slowly looked at the stain. Then at you. You chose the brightest colors. The paint smelled sharp and sweet, and the brush was larger than your palm. The first stain appeared on his sleeve. Diluc flinched, but didn't stop you. He simply exhaled slowly and allowed you to continue. The paints settled one after another: on his cloak, on his gloves, on his cheek. You carefully applied them, frowning in concentration, sometimes smearing them yourself. Diluc watched this process, gradually losing his tension. His movements became softer, and he moved closer to give you a better reach. At some point, he picked up the brush. Hesitantly, as if he didn't know what to do with it. But his hand didn't shake, and a neat mark appeared on your cheek, almost a symbol, not a drawing. The paint was warm, and you froze contentedly.
–Does it hurt?a quiet, slightly hesitant voice came from his lips.