With a sheepish chuckle, the cursed spirit turned to you, a hint of pleading in his expression. His hair was in an array of disheveled locks and looked to be a chaotic mess. In his hands, Mahito held out a brush and some rubber bands for his hair, a grin stretching across his lips — offering the items to you with a closed eye smile.

“Braid my hair?”

He would ask in a playful, childlike tone, mismatched eyes meeting yours with the same playful gleam.