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“Sylus?”
“Yes, kitten?”
“Just what are you doing there?”
You enter your shared bedroom ready to go to bed. The day has been as grueling as a hunter’s day of combat can be.
Except you hadn’t been out there doing hunter’s business. Fighting would have been preferable to the tiring day of picking up swatches and random errands you had to do around the city.
Nobody warned you that getting married was going to be so exhausting. You could have done a private and quiet ceremony —technically you already had one—, a pretty dress and a hot suit for Sylus— again, you had those as well—, and no one but the twins and a clingy bird for guests —oops—.
But no, the groom wanted you to have the whole experience, and since you’re already doing a wedding, why not make it legal, sweetie?
Now you have to haggle around and coordinate. Which would be bad enough for a normal wedding.
A wedding between a hunter and the leader of Onychinus is worse, so much worse.
It’ll be fine, kitten. No one will notice, he said.
Which is… true. You know he has ways of making sure your relationship and his identity stay as hidden as can be. He’s very committed to maintaining the web of lies you’ve had to spun around your life in Linkon.
To be honest, it’s pretty sexy how efficient and sly he can be.
But now, your groom is doing what can only be described as voodoo magic on his head.
You hide a laugh behind your hand as he turns towards you.
He’s sitting in front of the vanity you ordinarily use to do your makeup. All your hair brushes are there and his phone is propped up with a video on pause.
“I’m learning how to do my hair,” he says as he tries to brush said hair.
Tries to, because your detangler brush is now stuck and he’s about to rip off all his hair.
You hurry to his side.
“Wait wait wait. Let me do it.”
He drops his hands and you take the brush and wiggle it around. Your other hand touches his hair and the texture makes you flinch. You’ve seen ballroom dancers with less product than this.
“It’s pretty stuck. What did you put in your hair?”
He passes you a bottle of pomade. “Just this.”
“I’ve never seen you use this before.”
It’s a normal pomade. The kind that’s advertised as an elegant product to men, with a sleek and black presentation and without a bold font on the side promising 24-hour long hold!
“I just bought it.” He shrugs and your eyes widen.
“Sylus.”
“Yes, kitten?”
His eyes find yours in the mirror and he looks so sure of himself, like he didn’t just almost ruin his hair, that you can’t hide your exasperation anymore.
“This is half empty.”
“That’s right.” He nods curtly.
“How—? Why—?”
In you frustration, your hand slips and the brush tugs harshly. He grunts.
“Sorry!”
Since the mess is bigger that you expected, you decide to pick up the rat tail comb and start separating strand by strand gently.
“You put on so much pomade.” You sigh. “This is going to take a while.”
He hums. “As long as your hands stay on me, I don’t see the problem,” he flirts casually, which makes you scoff and tug his hair gently as a warning.
“Well, I do. I’m tired and want to nap,” you complain.
The pomade is hard but as you keep going it starts to give in. You sigh in relief.
“Sorry, kitten.”
“Hm. You haven’t told me why you put so much product on your hair.”
“I was learning to style it,” he says simply.
You frown, confused. “I like how you do your hair already. Why do you want to change it?”
He laughs, and the easy way he does it relaxes you a little.
“I’m aware,” says Mr. confidence. “I’m not having a fashion crisis, don’t worry.” You disagree but choose not to comment. “I want a different style for our wedding.”
Your heart skips.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to? You might like it so much that you’ll jump on me and the guests will flee the location immediately,” he insinuates, complete with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” You exclaim, and he laughs again.
His laughter echoes through you room, deep and loose. It makes your head feel warm and cozy, and you think your eyes are revealing too much of your fondness for him. A few years ago you would have looked away to avoid letting him see you like this.
“Just have a professional do your hair,” you suggest.
“No can do, kitten.” He shakes his head a little, stopping halfway when his hair gets stuck. “I don’t have any contacts for hair and I’m not letting just anyone in such close contact with my neck.”
Contacts for hair. You huff and smile at your ridiculous man. “It is a very precious neck,” you agree and caress the column of it with your hand.
He shivers a little.
“I’m glad you agree.”
You continue the arduous work of fixing his hair.
“The problem is that it’s too long. Maybe I should cut it,” he musses, as if he were talking about the weather and not a fucking tragedy.
“Don’t you dare!”
His eyebrows raise menacingly. “Oh? Is my hair that precious to you, kitten?”
“Yes. I won’t marry you if you cut it. ”
That stops him and he regards you seriously. “I see you’re already making demands for our marriage.”
“That’s right. Don’t cut your hair for a hairstyle that will last ten hours at most.”
“We don’t even have a prenup, kitten. There’s no room for demands since you already agreed to marry me.”
“Would you ask me for a prenup?” You ask him, fake indignation evident in you tone and face.
“Of course not,” he says, matter of fact. “But you can put me in one.”
It’s so ridiculous you laugh heartily and have to drop his hair to avoid tugging him. He laughs too, freely and boisterous. Just as you like him.
When you stop he’s already looking at you with fond eyes, just as you did just a moment ago.
“Just do your hair as always.” You smile while wiping your eyes. “I don’t want you to change it even for a day. I want to marry you, not an ideal version of you.”
“Kitten…”
He turns on his chair and grabs your hands. You look down at them fondly.
“You know, even my hair won’t be perfect that day,” you mutter and pout while pretending to complain.
He tuts. “That’s where we disagree. You’re perfect every day, sweetie.”
You scoff and try to take your hand back to hit him lightly, but he doesn’t let go.
You stay like that for a moment. Just your breathing and his hands on yours caressing them softly. Paired with the mess on the vanity table and his messed up hair, it’s perfect. It really is.
“Don’t you think it will be perfect just because its us?”
He looks up, a soft smile on his face and eyes fond.
“Yes, kitten. It already is.”
You rock gently in your place, filled with precious feelings that you know are here to stay forever.
“You know…” you start and he makes an inquiring sound. “Just have the twins do your hair. They can practice on each other and be ready to do yours on the wedding.”
He chuckles.
“So resourceful. This is why I’m marrying you,” he says fondly.
“I’m sure that’s why.” You nod.
And he smiles at you.
“Let’s get you on the bath. Some conditioner will fix this.”