T | 6.8k | anitacassie hair care, internalized homophobia, and tender feelings â„ | written as a @wlwdcchampionship steal!
âDeal with my hair for me?â Anita wheedles, her voice muffled against Cassieâs T-shirt. âPleaaaase?â
Cassieâs eyes widen. Anita wants her to take care of her hair for her? Thatâs⊠whoa.
Anita is very particular about her hair. It symbolized her connection to her mom for so long; her momâs back now, and Anita has her family againâbigger than before, given that her parents have a thing with Agent Maad nowâbut itâs still incredibly meaningful to her.
Most people donât get to touch it, let alone actually participate in Anitaâs careful hair-care routines. Frankly, Anitaâs way more likely to walk around in her underwear without caring who looks at her than she is to let just about anyone outside her family or her very closest friends do her hair. LikeâCassie is definitely one of those closest friends, and sheâs still surprised Anitaâs asking. Thatâs how loath Anita usually is to let others mess with her hair.
âYouâre sure?â Cassie asks, a second or two late. âI know you, um, donât usually like when people touch your hair and stuff, andââ
Anita laughs at her, face still smushed into her belly. âGirl, would I be the one approaching you about it if I wasnât sure?â
Itâs a small room, kinda dingy in the way cheap roadside motels always are. But itâs shelterâfour walls and a roof, and a bed with pillows and blankets, and with how bone-tired she is, thatâs all Cassie can ask for.
Water runs in the bathroomâAnitaâs still in the shower, wrangling all the swampmonster goop out of her braids. Sheâs been at it for half an hour; sheâs probably getting close to done, right?
How she has the energy for all of that after the day theyâve had, Cassie doesnât know. Sheâs got the strength of gods flowing through her veins, and sheâs still ready to conk out; Anitaâs gotta be running on sheer willpower at this point. Itâs mighty impressive.
Cassie sighs, leaning against the edge of the tiny desk crammed into one corner of the room. Sheâs half-tempted to stick her shitty corner store TV dinner in the microwave, eat, and crash, poor Anita still in the shower be damned, but she holds herself back. Itâd be rude, and Anitaâs just as tired as she is. And if Cassieâs asleep, whoâs gonna tell Anita thereâs a second microwavable casserole in the minifridge for her?
See, yeah, it would be rude and unchivalrous. Cassie pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her eyes, and finally rakes her hand through her hair. It still catches her by surprise, how short it is nowâshe hasnât had it this short since she was fourteen or fifteen, still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and innocent.
