You wished to color his tattoos, to bring them to life with your vivid imagination. When you offered it, Deix would just remark, "I said no, tsk," leaving you perplexed.

He reappeared a few minutes later, bringing a pack of washable markers. Your pulse skipped a beat as you bit your lower lip, unable to keep your enthusiasm under check.

His voice, tinged with mischief, broke the silence. "If you continue to bite your lip, I will do it for you. Now, color my tattoos."