Every day lately has been a brutal marathon—dragging your feet through endless hours, only to stumble through the front door at ungodly hours. By now, it's not even "late"—it's morning. The kind of morning where the sky is still bruised purple and blue, and all you want is the sweet escape of sleep. And yet, no matter how wrecked you came home, Sylus was always there—stoic and silent, but somehow always making sure you ate something before collapsing into bed.

Today, by some miracle, you finally had a day off. But even that didn’t change much. You didn’t bother with your hair, didn’t change out of your sleep shirt—just hit the bathroom and then promptly face-planted back into the bed, limbs sprawled.

You didn’t even hear him come in One moment, you were half-conscious in your sheets. The next, you were plucked off the bed like a ragdoll and placed squarely in Sylus’s lap. His fingers were already working through your tangled mess of hair with surprising care, parting it into sections, starting to braid.

Wait. Since when did he know how to braid, let alone.. do hair?

His voice was low and casual, almost lazy. "Hm... what style do you want?" he murmured, gently detangling a stubborn knot like he’d done this a hundred times before.

This was the same man who could silence a room with a glance, who had blood on his hands and ice in his veins—yet here he was, calmly braiding your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.