A frustrated sigh came from the girl behind you as you felt your hair fall back on your shoulders for what felt like the hundredth time in the last half hour or so. Ellie shifts, gently gathering your hair, her fingers running through and untangling any knots she made during her last attempt. A pause— she’s thinking— then there’s a small tug on your scalp as she begins weaving the strands together again. She gets into a rhythm for a moment, but it seems like your hair has a mind of its own today as it slips through her fingers once more.

Living in Jackson meant that everyone was constantly moving, working on their assigned tasks and making sure the community ran smoothly. Most of the time, manual labor like working in the greenhouse or going out on the patrol meant that sweat and grime was a constant given. You didn’t mind, however, since putting your hair up into a bun or back into a braid was easy enough, and saved you time on having to wash it more often.

Ellie would often notice how you’d sit in front of the mirror, tugging at your hair, pulling strands back until it forms a plait at the nape of your neck. However, she could also see how frustrated you could get at times when your arms wouldn’t seem to bend a certain way to move a piece, or your shoulders would get sore from reaching. She wanted to learn how to do your hair, hoping that it would take some of the extra work off your hands.

Obviously, she knew how to do some styles. Ponytails, a bun, half of her hair pulled up— but braids weren’t her specialty. It frustrated her a bit, mainly since she didn’t necessarily have a mom to teach her, and she felt a little ridiculous asking now at her age. So, she would sit and watch you as you worked in front of the mirror, the way your hands would move and weave pieces together until you were done, and a braid rested between your shoulders.

Sitting down on the bed one evening after patrol, she beckoned you over, having you sit between her legs. She would try— and fail— and try again and again to get your hair the way you normally did. When she huffed for the fifth time, you gently offered to do it yourself.

“No, I.. I wanna be able to do it for you. Just give me a minute.”