the gentle blow of the hair dryer ruffles your still damp hair, whilst wednesday’s hand moves to cover your ear.

“most of the matting is gone,” she quietly mutters, switching the hair dryer off before carding her fingers through your hair. it’s incredibly soft, given all the products and canine shampoo she’s massaged through it.

it’s been a week since she managed to track your wolfed-out form down, and shift you back into a slightly bigger, more unkempt version of yourself.

her fingers move to check your canine ears, a small pout finding her lips as she sees the tufts of uncut hair inside.

“carajo…”