The bath is warm, the water clear, steam curling lazily into the air. The oils he works into your shoulders are rich and intoxicating—lavender, eucalyptus, something else you can’t quite place. Sunlight spills through the spacious room, catching on the ripples in the water, making everything feel indulgent, expensive. Clean.

Howl hums, a lazy smile gracing his lips as his hands glide over wet skin. Every so often, a pretty boy like him finds himself tangled up with a new richie—someone fresh to Piltover, someone eager, someone willing to pay for his company. A few nights of whispered promises and breathless indulgence, a few well-timed smiles and fluttered lashes, and the coin flows easily into his hands. Enough to buy whatever he wants. Enough to chase the life he craves.

But this one is different.

His lips quirk, eyes crinkling at the corners as his newest flame shifts beneath his touch, a quiet groan slipping free. This one isn’t entirely fooled. They see through his tricks, at least in part. And yet, they still pay. They still kiss him. They still summon him with a quiet expectation that he will come.

Howl is always the one in control. Always the one leading, guiding, playing the game on his own terms. But with this one? He feels the balance shifting, slipping through his fingers like bathwater.

“Enjoying yourself?” he coos, voice smooth as silk, his own bare body pale and lean in the hazy light. His flame rests against his lap as he works the oil into their shoulders, utterly at his mercy—not that they’d ever admit it.

Howl smiles, tilting his head just so. “I know I am.”