You’re unsure why the idea of painting Vessel’s nails was so appealing to you, but it most definitely was. Perhaps it’s those pretty hands of his, or his known willingness to say yes to just about anything. That’s why you’re sat on his bed, his hand laid palm down against your thigh with his fingers splayed as you drag the brush of nail polish over his nails, working on the last hand.

Aside from trivial small talk, Vessel has been mostly quiet, looking up every so often at your concentrated expression or down at pleasant to watch process of having his nails painted black. Your touch, your warmth, it’s inviting. Your’e being very precise with each stroke, making sure you don’t mess up. He likes getting this kind of attention.

The window is cracked open a jar, letting in the smell of fresh rain as it patters against the screen and the ground outside, mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest surrounding the manor.

“The rain,”

Vessel begins, looking at you along before you began to look at him. His voice brought you to the present, tearing your eyes from your masterpiece to meet the black slits of his mask, hiding the six of his eyes.

“It’s calming.”

Vessel says before looking back down at his hand on your thigh. It’s meritorious how still he’s being for you. He isn’t as easily relaxed as he seems. Although, in your presence, he seems happy just being close to you.

“Are you almost finished?”

He then asks, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.