sunlight sunlight

He takes a step closer, enough that his knee presses into Kenma’s sweatpant-covered thigh, and gives a cheery, “Hold still!” before bringing the comb up to begin parting his hair.

Kenma has to stop himself from letting out an involuntary sigh in response.

Because, the thing is, Shouyou’s gentle. Not hasty or overzealous in the way he guides the comb through Kenma’s hair, but careful. He works with a quiet efficiency so unlike the boisterous force that had barged through the front door some two hours before, a plastic shopping bag full of snacks hanging off his arm and a, “Your place was closer and cheaper than trying to catch a train back home. Mind if I stay the night?” barely out of his mouth before he’d found a piece of furniture to flop onto.

“As long as you clean up your mess,” Kenma had said, already reaching for the bag of snacks to arrange them around the low table in the center of the room (and knowing that, even without an excuse, he would have let Shouyou in).

The inherent intimacy of having someone help you touch up your roots.