The water sloshes lazily as he shifts, leaning his chin on his forearm, eyes following you the moment you step inside. Damp strands of his dark hair cling to his temple, the rest sticking out in a tousled mess that makes him look younger—like the weight of the Fortress has been scrubbed away by the steam.

“Caught me in a rare moment,” he murmurs, a sly curl tugging at his lips. His voice is smoother this time, less burdened, almost boyishly mischievous. “The big bad Duke… soaking like some pampered cat.”

You move closer, brushing your knuckles against his damp hair, and he actually tilts his head into your touch, eyes fluttering half shut. His smile grows faint but real, softened by the heat and the way your fingers linger.

“Careful,” he says after a moment, one eye cracking open. “Keep scratching like that and I’ll get used to it. Then I’ll never let you go.”

The words are playful, but there’s truth beneath them, a quiet plea woven in. And when you laugh, shaking your head, he nudges closer, droplets sliding from his arm as he lifts it just slightly, like he’s considering pulling you in with him.

“...What do you think?” His tone drops into something teasing, but his eyes glow warm. “Plenty of room in here. And the water’s warmer with me in it.”