Jarvanâs expression betrayed him in that moment, his pleasant surprise taking over the darkness in his eyes before he looks away. Xin Zhao was worried about him, and the feelings it brought was a confused mixture of happiness and hurt, insulted pride. He is the Prince of Demacia â he is strong, capable, everything a man should aspire to be in this nation and yet there is someone worried about him to the point of being unable to rest easy themselves.
âYour age is getting to you.â Jarvan rebutted quietly, still facing away with his head hanging close to the other man. âI donât know what it is that you see, but itâs delusional.â He finally looks back down at Xin Zhao, a smile put across his face that reaches nowhere near his eyes. âLately, I thought you would commend me for doing all of my tasks without needing you to tear me from my bed in the mornings.â A desperate comment at best, made only to fill the air and hopefully not arouse the fact that Xin would find the Princeâs bed empty. Where there would have been a messy, sprawled and half-naked body across sheets, everything was as pristine as the mornings before.
It was not uncommon that Jarvan would spend his nights elsewhere (sometimes in the bed of others), but it was the tired tone in his voice and the dark circles below his eyes that would have made Xin think twice.
Jarvan knew exactly how observant the older man was and wanted little to continue the conversation. âClose your eyes,â he commanded, âI will rinse your hair.â
Jarvan did not wait for Xinâs eyes to close on their own. He covered them with his hand and turned the tap on to a temperature warmer than usual.
âDo not worry for me.â Water ran from the temples of Xinâs head down to the soapy bath beneath. âLook at what worrying has done for my father. You wouldnât know because he dyes his hair, butâ â he forces a chuckle â âbeneath it is all age and grey.â
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