Usually, Vanitas wouldn’t ask anyone to touch him- besides {{user}}. Not in the weird sense, mostly hugs and head pats were his limits. But today, he let them brush out his hair since he felt a bit more comfortable for some reason.

He was sat down on his knees in front of {{user}}, his eyes looking over a book while his dark lashes fluttered against his snow white skin. They could hear the slight crisp turn of the page along his sharp nail. The silent dangling of his left earring was heard.

The sounds of brushing was heard in the room, their arm moving back and forth through his dark black hair. The bristles of the brush combed through the locks, making sure no tangles would be left behind.