As he walked around in front of her, applying moisturizer to her collarbone, his gaze was averted. Even that was careful and measured out. His expression betrayed a few moments of indecision, hesitation that anyone would have in a scenario like this, but that indecision didn’t interfere with his ministrations.

It had, before. She couldn’t even remember how that conversation had gone. He had handled some of her requests for food, and that had led to him ordering an outfit, bringing it up online and getting her confirmation before having it delivered. Talk of the outfit had led to mention of her hair.

It was clean, her power cleaned it more thoroughly than anything. But it wasn’t—anything. He had offered to buy and apply the conditioner. He had washed her hair like her mother’s hairdresser had used to.

When he said something, or if he hesitated too long, she had walked way or started doing it herself. It had happened twice. Now he seemed to have figured it out.

No words. If he was going to do something, he would do it in a way that showed respect and no hesitation.

Her injuries were disinfected, cream applied, bandages taped on. She moved her arm to test that the tape wouldn’t pull, then nodded. The burn at her side required that her towel be adjusted to reveal just the side of her stomach and her hip, which he did, and she pinned it at the side of her body like that until he was done.

He applied her makeup, with attention to redness and scrapes from past skirmishes. She kept her eyes closed while he applied makeup around her eyes, then to her lashes.

Her eyes were open as the lipstick kissed her lips. It moved slowly, pulling at the surface of the lip. He was ever so careful to avoid a mistake there.

His face was very close to hers for this part.

When he was done with her makeup, he went to the table where her dress was laid out. He brought it down to the ground, and she stepped into it. He raised it, his head turned away, and she let the towel fall before the zipper was raised, pulling the dress tight around her midsection and her chest. Not corset tight, but tight. He attended to the straps at the neck, and he first buckled on and then adjusted the layers of cloth that went over her one shoulder, covering the bandaged wound.

He brought the shoes, and held them out for her to put her feet into, and she did, and he attended to the straps that secured them to her feet. He remained kneeling for a few seconds longer than necessary as she turned away from him, taking a few steps to make sure that the fit was right, and that the shoes wouldn’t be uncomfortable. The dress swished against her legs.