Hanes

You just sighed one morning:

— I'm so tired of messing around with the scythe every time...

You said it without any hint. Just like that. And in the evening, you notice him sitting with his phone, watching some video with a completely serious face. When you come closer, he quickly locks the screen.

The next day he comes to you with a comb.

• Sit down.

— he says calmly. You're laughing.

• Are you serious?

He nods and stands behind you. His fingers are a little clumsy, careful. He tangles them, sighs, unravels them, and starts again.

• Don't move.

— he mutters, completely focused. You feel him carefully parting your hair, careful not to tug. Sometimes his fingers accidentally brush against your neck, and you smile faintly.

• I watched three lessons, — he admits. — If you're going to do it, do it properly.

When he finishes, the braid is slightly uneven, but surprisingly neat.

He leans closer to your ear and says quietly:

“I want to be able to take care of you even in such small things.”