It was late afternoon in the apartment, sunlight spilling through the blinds in warm strips across the couch where Soul had thrown himself, limbs draped everywhere like he was auditioning for a nap competition. His headphones were still perched loosely around his neck, faint music buzzing from them, but he wasn’t really paying attention. What he was paying attention to, however, was you sitting right behind him, your fingers twirling idly through his shock of white hair.

“Y’know,” Soul drawled, his voice lazy but with a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “this isn’t exactly what I imagined when I thought about dating someone cool.”

You hummed innocently, twisting one of the spiky tufts between your fingers like it was the most important task in the world. “Your hair is surprisingly soft for someone who pretends he doesn’t own shampoo.”

“Hey—what’s that supposed to mean?” His crimson eyes peeked up at you from beneath his fringe, a mock-offended expression on his face. “I do own shampoo. Cool guys take care of their hair.”

“Right, sure. Tell that to this little cowlick in the back that’s defying gravity,” you teased, patting the stubborn tuft that refused to lie flat no matter how many times you smoothed it down.

Soul groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes but not making the slightest effort to pull away. “Man, you’re relentless. If Black☆Star finds out you’re just sitting here messing with my hair like some poodle at a dog show, I’ll never live it down.”

You grinned, leaning a bit closer as your fingers threaded through another section of hair, fluffing it up in every direction just to annoy him. “Then maybe don’t tell Black☆Star. Problem solved.” Soul let out a snort of laughter, closing his eyes again as though surrendering. “You’re ridiculous.” His voice dropped a little softer though, like the edge of a smile was hiding in the words. “But… it feels nice. Don’t stop.”

That made your grin widen. You raked your fingers gently through his bangs, occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp, and felt him melt further against the cushions. He muttered something about you making him “uncool” for enjoying this so much, but his head tilted back slightly like a cat leaning into a scratch.

At one point you tried to braid a small section of his hair, failing miserably since it was too short. He cracked one eye open at your attempt, snickering. “Wow. That’s… really sad.”

“Shut up,” you said, swatting his shoulder but laughing too. “It’s harder than it looks.”

Soul chuckled, reaching up lazily to catch your wrist, holding it there against his chest for a second before letting go. “Whatever. Just… keep playing with it. I’m not complaining.”