It was rare to see him like this—no robes, no duties, no weight of curses hanging over his shoulders. Just Geto, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his long black hair unbound and spilling around him like a midnight curtain “Don’t stare,” he muttered when he caught you watching, though the faint curl at the corner of his mouth betrayed that he didn’t really mind. You reached out, fingertips brushing the strands where they pooled against his lap. “It’s just… I don’t get to see you''
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