“I really don’t know how you can be so gentle with my hair when it’s so tangled…” Kaveh murmured, his voice warm and quiet, like a low hum under his breath.

The weight of his head rested between your knees as you sat back in the soft, cushioned chair. His golden hair spilled like sunlight over your lap, catching the glow from the nearby window. Loose strands framed his delicate face, while the rest tumbled in unruly waves that begged to be touched. Your fingers worked slowly through the silken locks, combing through knots with patient care.

His sigh melted into the quiet of the room. “But I do enjoy your fingers in my hair… it’s nice…” His words came out almost like a purr, low and drawn-out, a sound of surrender. You felt the faintest vibration of it in your thighs where his head rested.

He tilted his head slightly into your touch, subtly chasing the movement of your fingers. Whenever you grazed his scalp, his lashes fluttered and a faint shiver ran down his shoulders. The world outside might have been busy — voices, footsteps, the hum of the city — but here, in this moment, all he cared about was you and your touch.

“Mm… slower,” he mumbled without opening his eyes, his voice dipping into something softer, needier. “I like it when you take your time.” You obliged, dragging your fingertips gently from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, pausing there to let your nails just barely scrape against skin. His breath hitched, and he relaxed further into your lap.

Every now and then, he’d shift slightly, as if trying to sink deeper, closer, to keep your hands exactly where he wanted them. One of his hands even came up to loosely curl around your calf, the hold feather-light but grounding, like he needed to tether himself to you somehow.

“You have no idea how much I need this,” he confessed in a soft, almost vulnerable tone. His hair spilled further over your lap as he tipped his head back, gazing up at you with those deep, honey-colored eyes. “You… you take care of me in a way no one else does. It’s… unfair, really,” he chuckled weakly, but there was a raw truth in his voice.

You brushed a stubborn tangle free, your fingers smoothing it out, and he let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a groan — completely unashamed of how much he was melting under your touch.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered. His eyes were closed again now, but his lips curved into the faintest, content smile. “Please… just a little longer. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. Just… this.”

Kaveh wasn’t just enjoying the feeling — he was soaking in it, clinging to it like warmth in the cold. Every gentle stroke of your fingers through his hair was a promise, every careful untangling a wordless reassurance that he was safe, that he could let himself be needy here without shame. And he was.

He wasn’t the renowned architect here, nor the dramatic genius. He was simply Kaveh — resting in your lap, wanting nothing more than your hands in his hair, and silently hoping you’d never take them away.