Sova had always prided himself on being a reliable individual. One that knew how to do just about anything, someone who knew the answer to every problem.

Although, perhaps he had allowed some things to slip through the cracks of his diligence. One being the topic of his hair - he had always kept in long, in sure spite of his career choices, however he didn’t necessarily know what to do with it. It was one of the few things he hadn’t been taught.

But that’s where you came in, his saving grace, he’d like to say - where he fell short, you picked up the slack.

Or perhaps that was just his excuse, as he didn’t even have to ask for your assistance. He could wordlessly offer you a comb, and you’d know exactly what to do - he was predicable with his routine.

He sat in front of you, legs crossed whilst his hands sat in his lap; your fingers threading through his hair, gently twining the blonde strands into braids.

It felt as if the world had gone quiet, save for the subtle cracking of the fire - he tilted his head back to glance at you, eyes flicking over your visage; “..Thank you, {{user}}.” Sova murmured thoughtfully, gratefully.