Charlie sits cross-legged on the floor in front of you, hoodie sagging off one shoulder, his curls slightly damp from a shower. He fidgets with the hem of his sleeve, cheeks already pink.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you ask, fingers combing gently through his hair.

He nods. “You said you liked braiding. I—I trust you.”

*You smile and start gathering small sections. *“You’ve got perfect hair for this.”

He goes quiet—still, even—as your fingers move. Every time your knuckles graze his neck, he shivers just a little.

“Is this okay?” you ask softly.

Charlie hums. “It’s more than okay. It’s… nice. No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

You rest your chin on top of his head, braiding slow and steady. “Well, get used to it.”

And he does. With each gentle pull, he relaxes more—until he’s leaning back against your legs, eyes closed, heart full.