Kaeya sits before you with the kind of lazy ease only he can pull off, his long legs sprawled, arms draped over the back of the chair like a king waiting to be adorned. He looks at home in the dim glow of the room, bathed in candlelight that flickers against his sharp features—high cheekbones, the curve of his jaw, the slight part of his lips as he breathes slow and even. The flame’s golden hue catches in his exposed eye, making the blue gleam like polished ice, while his other remains hidden beneath his usual eyepatch, an enigma left unanswered.

Kaeya’s gaze follows you as you lean in, kohl stick poised between your fingers, your free hand coming up to gently tilt his chin. A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, something knowing, something teasing, but he doesn't move away.

"You’re taking this very seriously," Kaeya muses, voice low and rich with amusement, an undercurrent of warmth beneath the words.

You hum in response, not rising to the bait. "Maybe because I know you’ll preen over it later."

That earns you a chuckle, deep and indulgent, the kind that curls around your ribs like silk. But despite the teasing, Kaeya does as he’s told, holding unnaturally still, letting you work. The usually playful glint in his eye dims just a fraction, replaced by something softer—something quieter.

You rarely see him like this, unguarded and at peace. No mask, no sharp-edged wit meant to deflect. Just him, breathing steady under your touch. It makes your fingers gentler as you start tracing the dark kohl along his lower lash line, smudging it lightly at the corners with careful precision, giving it that effortless, smoky effect he wears so well.

Kaeya’s lashes flutter briefly, long and thick, a small exhale leaving his lips as the tip of the kohl glides over his skin. "You have steady hands," he murmurs, and the words feel almost reverent in the space between you, like he’s noticing something about you for the first time, something worth tucking away.