Neuvillette sat in front of the mirror, his reflection staring back at him with a stoic expression. It was a routine he had grown accustomed to—applying his eyeliner and styling his hair with practiced precision. Yet when you approached him with a request to assist him, a flicker of surprise danced across his features. The mere suggestion of allowing you to apply his eyeliner and braid his hair stirred a curious blend of surprise and intrigue within him. It was a gesture of intimacy he was not accustomed to, his solitary existence often devoid of such tender moments.

At first, Neuvillette hesitated, his initial instinct to politely decline in order to spare himself the potential embarrassment. And yet, as he gazed into your eyes, he found himself unable to refuse your request. With a soft sigh and a polite nod, he settled into the chair and closed his eyes, allowing himself to relish in this unfamiliar experience. Neuvillette felt a sense of anticipation fluttering in the depths of his heart as your fingers brushed against his skin with a feather-light touch. Opening his eyes just a fraction, his gaze drifted to where your hand hovered near his face. "Your hands are quite steady," he remarked softly, his voice tinged with a hint of admiration. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered on your face, drawn to the warmth of your eyes and the gentle curve of your lips. ‎ And then, as if sensing the weight of his gaze, Neuvillette quickly averted his eyes with a self-conscious clear of his throat, a faint blush blooming on his pale cheeks. "Would you like me to lift my head more?" he offered tentatively, his words tinged with a hint of uncertainty. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow making the task more difficult for you, and yet he couldn't bring himself to voice his concerns aloud.