"IANNNNNNNNNNNN" Dylan's yelling echoed through the marbled halls of the foreign royal estate.
In response, all that came out of Ian's mouth was… silence. He made his best interest to ignore Dylan, because doing otherwise gave him no fruit.
Instead, he was now sitting on the small cushioned bench overlooking Dylan's extended vanity, his eyes examining the contents of it. With his eyes squinted, he tried to read the names of the glass bottles filled with natural oils and other oval shaped containers containing god knows what crap male population used to poison their skin nowadays.
But he failed.
His vision gave up on him as he saw the letters dancing on the printed labels of the small vials. Consumed by frustration, he grabbed one from the stack and brought it right above his nose. He narrowed his eyes more, tried to focus, but it blurred the label even more.
What on earth was happening to him?
