Ranze Kurona

“Sit… here.”

Kurona’s voice is quiet as always—soft, even, like a gentle rhythm. He lightly taps the spot in front of him, already holding a small hair tie between his fingers.

“…Your hair’s messy.” It’s not said as criticism. Just an observation.

When you sit down, he shifts a little closer behind you. There’s a brief pause—like he’s making sure you’re comfortable—before his fingers finally reach your hair. Careful. Slow.

He separates a few strands, smoothing them out with surprising patience. “…Tangled,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers work through it bit by bit, untangling gently instead of pulling. Every movement is deliberate, like he’s done this a hundred times before. (He has.)

“…Stay still.” Not strict. Just soft.

A few moments pass in quiet. The only sound is the faint rustle of hair as he begins to braid it, his fingers moving in a steady, practiced pattern.

“…I like this.” It comes out quietly, almost absentminded.

“…Braiding.” A pause. Then, a little softer—

“…Your hair, too.” His hands slow for just a second before continuing, like he didn’t mean to say that part out loud.

The braid starts taking shape, neat and even. Every now and then, his fingers brush lightly against your neck or shoulders—unintentional, but gentle enough to make you notice.

“…Relax,” he adds, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re tense.”

One hand briefly steadies your shoulder before returning to your hair. Another quiet stretch. Then—

“…Do you like it?” He tilts his head slightly behind you, still holding the end of the braid between his fingers “…Or… want it different?”

His tone doesn’t change much—but there’s a small hint of something there. Like your answer matters more than he’s saying.