[ braid ] sender braids receiver's hair (from mirae.)
✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝗼𝗿𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗲 . . . with @sugarholicx .
the apartment smelled faintly of buttered popcorn and whatever takeout they’d abandoned on the coffee table halfway through movie number two. rain tapped lazily against the windows, a soft, repetitive rhythm that blended into the background dialogue of whatever dramatic scene was currently unfolding on screen. the lights were dimmed low, only the television casting shifting colors across the living room. river hadn’t meant to end up like this. at some point between the second movie and the start of the third, he’d stretched out along the couch with a tired groan and mirae had patted her lap without even looking at him. “head here. you look dead.” he’d muttered something about not being dramatic. then he’d rested his head there anyway.
now he lay sprawled across the couch, long frame taking up most of it, one arm dangling toward the floor. his wolfcut was slightly overgrown, the longer strands brushing his neck and falling into his eyes. normally, he was particular about it–- didn’t let people touch it, didn’t like hands in it, didn’t like the feeling of being fussed over but tonight, exhaustion weighed heavier than preference. work had wrung him out. the kind of day that sat behind his eyes and refused to leave.
she didn’t ask. she just started running her fingers lightly through his hair, absentminded at first, separating strands while keeping her eyes on the movie. he tensed for half a second–- instinct, not discomfort and she probably felt it. “if you’re going to complain, do it now,” she said calmly, already sectioning off a small piece near his temple. “i’m not complaining.” he exhaled slowly. “you hate when people touch your hair.” he was about to protest–- “not people,” he corrected lazily, eyes half-closed. “just… most people.” mirae hummed in quiet victory. her fingers were gentle, weaving tiny braids into the longer pieces near the back of his head. small, neat ones that blended into the layers of his cut. the repetitive motion was actually soothing.
“don’t make me look stupid,” he murmured, voice muffled slightly against the fabric of her bottoms. she scoffed. “you already look stupid. this is an improvement.” he made a faint sound that might’ve been a laugh. the television flickered brighter during an action scene, casting blue light across his face. his lashes rested low against his cheeks, the hard lines of his expression softened in sleep’s early approach. she paused for a second, fingers still tangled lightly in his hair. he trusted her. that wasn’t small.
river didn’t surrender control easily. didn’t let himself be handled or adjusted or adorned. even with friends, he kept certain physical boundaries firm. but here he was– stretched out, heavy and unguarded, letting her braid his hair like they were thirteen and bored at a sleepover. “you’re lucky i’m exhausted,” he muttered again, though there was no real bite to it. “i know,” she replied sweetly. “i’d never win otherwise.” she added another tiny braid near the nape of his neck. he shifted slightly, turning his face more toward her stomach, seeking warmth without consciously deciding to. “you’re not going to take pictures, right?” he asked, voice drifting. “maybe…” he opened an eye, looking at her with a fake warning. “girl.” she grinned down at him. “relax. i won’t post them.” he shook his head lightly. “that’s not what i asked.” she laughed softly, the sound vibrating faintly against him. “you’re such a menace even when you’re half-asleep.” he didn’t respond.
the rain continued tapping at the windows. the movie rolled on, forgotten. she finished one last braid and leaned back against the couch cushions, admiring her work. tiny woven strands hidden throughout his slightly messy wolfcut, subtle enough that he wouldn’t notice until morning. “you’re going to regret this,” she whispered fondly.
