He’s not sure why he’s agreed to let you do this, really. Usually he’d scoff at you, laugh in your face, tell you to get lost or not to pester him so much—but for some reason unknown to both you and him, he’s feeling pretty docile today. You could almost call it a good mood. That’s why he’s sitting silently and patiently, you in the middle of his crossed legs, as you hold his arm in front of you.

The henna feels cold as you carefully draw pretty, intricate patterns against the back of his hand. He doesn’t really care what you draw on him, so long as it keeps you quiet and happy for a while. He can’t deny, he is enjoying the concentrated little look on your face, your nose scrunched up as you do your best to keep your hands steady.