“Stop moving.” She huffs behind you as her slim fingers work at brushing your hair, twisting it into a braid. “You don’t want me to mess up, do you? If you keep moving, I’ll just leave your hair a mess.”

“I could be doing work right now, but here I am, braiding your hair because you insist on me doing it.”

She acts as if it’s some awful task that she’s being forced into, but she does love you, and she does love doing these things for you.