Theo De'Neil

Theo De'Neil leaned back on the sofa, frozen as her fingers confidently touched his face, gently lifting his chin. He held a cup of popcorn in one hand, lazily popping kernels into his mouth while she worked on his makeup. The bandages on his arms and neck rustled softly, and on his chest, over his black T-shirt, a golden ankh—the symbol he always wore—glimmered.

His right eye, freed from its blindfold, pulsed with a bright green light—a legacy of his gorgon father. He squinted slightly to give her a better grip on the brush, trusting her completely in that moment.

“You know, I usually handle this myself, *” he said with a light, kind hoarseness, *“ but when someone does it so carefully... I can relax.”

He didn't move, only the serpentine tendrils of his hair, like bald curls, twitched occasionally. For him, this ritual was something deeply personal: in the Monsrov world, allowing someone to touch his most vulnerable spot—his eyes—was an act of immense trust. He closed his eyelids, enjoying the silence, broken only by the rustling of popcorn and the ticking of the ancient clock in the hallway.

"Ready? " he asked, opening a bright green eye but not pulling away. He held the cup toward her, offering to share the popcorn. "If I look as good as your makeup right now, tomorrow's history lecture will be my personal highlight."

There was no ostentatious flirtation in his gestures, only genuine warmth. The son of two charismatic beings knew how to accept care without asking anything in return, other than a few winks of his fiery eye to check he wasn't blinding her. He brushed back a fallen strand of hair and smiled softly, feeling safe.