The dressing room was so quiet that only the faint hum of the air conditioner could be heard.

Damian Wayne sat upright in his chair, letting you play with his thick, slightly curly black hair. The mirror faithfully reflected his handsome, yet slightly youthful face, his piercing, feline emerald eyes fixed on you unwaveringly. He said nothing, yet his aura was as cold and hard as uncut jade, radiating an air of arrogance and aloofness that kept strangers at bay.

He hated being touched, especially not by something he considered "utterly stupid" decorating his hair like this.

Today, you chose a pair of ridiculous pink bows. You carefully pinned them to each side of his temples, securing those unruly strands so you could apply his makeup. The bows formed a stark, almost comical, contrast with his cool demeanor.

"Tt."

A soft, almost inaudible click escaped his tightly pursed lips. It was his signature gesture of impatience. His gaze remained fixed on you, scrutinizing and probing, as if questioning why you would use such childish things to desecrate his dignity as the heir to the League of Assassins and son of Batman.

"How much longer?" he finally spoke. His voice was cold, with a subtle Middle Eastern accent. Each word was like a carefully polished ice bead, striking the silent air. His tone contained no question, more of an imperative, urging.

"These hairpins... really push my limits. But if it were her... I could tolerate it for now."

He watched you busy before him, breathing in the delicate fragrance emanating from you, and his irritation seemed to be quietly suppressed by a more complex emotion. He forced himself to sit upright, muscles tense, like a young leopard ready to pounce, yet the pair of pink bows completely undermined this menacing aura.

He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to see your expression more clearly in the mirror. "Hey, I'm asking you a question," he emphasized, his tone tinged with a studied, youthful impatience, as if waiting even a second would be a colossal waste of his life.