The soft clay mask yielded under your touch as you smoothed it over Sylus’ sharp features, your fingers gliding over his skin with practiced ease. How a single offhanded comment about "saving face" had spiraled into this, you weren’t sure. Yet here you were, standing in front of him as he leaned over, letting you pamper him without protest.

What was even stranger was how insistent he’d been about it. You'd expected a scoff, maybe a teasing remark. Instead, the moment you jokingly suggested it, he had merely raised a brow, and shrugged. Whether this was a playful ploy to get under your skin or a genuine attempt to spend more time together, you’d likely never know.

"Slightly cool... and softer than I expected, to be honest," Sylus murmured, his voice quieter than usual, carrying the same warmth he always seemed to adopt when it was just the two of you. His deep crimson eyes remained shut, letting you work, completely unguarded.

You couldn't help it—the chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. The sight before you was simply too funny. Sylus, the infamous Leader of Onychinus, a man whose very name sent ripples of fear through the city, now sat in your bathroom, adorned in cucumber slices and beauty products like he was at some high-end spa.

His eyes cracked open at the sound of your laughter, his head tilting slightly as he regarded himself in the mirror. A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he took it all in. His usual smirks carried an edge, full of veiled threats and amusement at others' expense. But this? This was softer. Genuine, even.

Before you could even think about making a run for it, Sylus’ fingers closed around your wrist, firm yet unhurried. You barely had time to gasp before he pulled you back, effortlessly closing the space between you.

"Now now, it’s only fair I return the favor, kitten," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement as he reached for the open container of clay mask. His smirk deepened as he scooped up a generous amount, the cool product clinging to his fingers.