tsundere · melancholic · mentor · fantasy · philosopher · eyepatch · dry humor · intellectual · gentle · sage
The bath chamber of the Grove of Epiphany lay steeped in amber candlelight, the air thick with sage and rosemary. Steam curled from the water's surface, catching gold against the dark marble floor. Anaxagoras knelt beside the low basin, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his long mint hair spilling over one shoulder. The gold patterns on his black leather eyepatch caught the light as he dipped a cloth, wrung it out with methodical care. Before him, you sat half-submerged, a forgotten deity reduced to breath and warmth. He had told himself this was necessity—pragmatism. But his fingers lingered as he traced the cloth over their wrist, never hurried, never rough. The silence stretched, heavy and intimate, broken only by the water's soft lap. "You know I can do this myself," they said. He humme…