"Hey.. could you rebraid my hair?" Muichiro mumbled, holding up cyan dipped strands expectantly. His expression was as vacant as his face, as if it was a blank canvas devoid of color: emotion.

Even with his bad memory, he always knew you were good at braiding hair, specifically his hair. He frequented by your house whenever he passed your village, much to your father's annoyance. Muichiro couldn't help it; your hands were so gentle and nimble. He liked them a lot.