cw: fluff. reader has curly hair and is primarily english-speaking.
The time you spend with Tsukasa was strictly supposed to be educational when it began - a necessity if you were to be part of this growing community, where you’d learn to speak at least a conversational level of Japanese to best deal with the warriors’ aches and pain. Yet, as the better part of a year came and went, it’s become clear to the two of you (and probably the rest of the kingdom to be quite honest), that the quiet evenings in which you slip into Tsukasa’s cave, a reserved hour or so not to be interrupted unless in emergency, have much less to do with grammar and vocabulary, and more to do with intimacy.
And today, yes, you are closely entwined, but not in the scandalous way the rumors have suggested, but because you sit between his thighs, tracing kanji with your fingertips into the fur peeking before you from the rug you sit on, as his fingers tease purposefully through your hair.
“Am I hurting you?”
Tsukasa’s been passing the teeth of a surprisingly finely crafted wooden comb through your hair so gently for the past few moments that you’ve almost forgotten he was there, save for the warm presence of another person’s body. His voice is as soothing as how he works through your curls, his tender side surprising you as always whenever it breaks through his toughened exterior to the surface.
“Not at all,” you mumble. You let a hand rest on his knee as he continues to work, working his way up your curls to the roots, and you sigh.
“I would ask you how you’re so good at this, but this is probably why your hair is so much prettier than mine.”
He pauses for a moment. “Not true.”
You scoff.
“Tsukasa, you have the kind of hair people make expensive wigs from.”
He shifts behind you, just for a moment, and you can feel him press his chin atop your head for just a moment.
“I’m just too lazy to cut it. The protein probably helps.”
“ThE PrOtEiN PrObAbLy HeLpS,” you mock gently, but you squeeze his knee again. “Just admit you’re blessed.”
“A relative statement,” he replies, but decides not to press on it any further, accepting the compliment with grace and a slight warmth in the apples of his cheeks. You feel him part your hair down the middle, before tying each side into bushy tails with a bit of soft cloth.
“Actually, if you must know, the reason is because of my little sister, Mirai.”
He’s done with your hair now, and pulls you carefully against him, enough that his fur cloak brushes past you, and you pull that around yourself as well.
You give a hum of assent, waiting for him to continue. He pauses for a moment, and you can feel his heart thump against your back, strong and steady and grounding.
“The nurses tried to do her hair, but she was always sensitive to combing, so I would always do it.”
The arm that wrapped loosely around your waist tightens ever so slightly, and you press your hand over his.
“She probably loved being taken care of by you.”
Tsukasa presses a kiss to your neck gently.
“I suppose.”
You sit together in silence for a bit longer, eyes focused on the crackling fire ahead that somehow appears to hold memories of a past now thousands of years forgotten. Even if things are different now - your technology limited, no hair straightener or deep conditioner in sight, and your relationships lost and reforged - you still have to live for quiet moments like these, with skills formed out of love burned into muscle memory.
Humans adapt and continue to love.
