Hawkins isn’t exactly sure why he agreed to it in the first place, but he did anyway.

He sat with his back turned to you, allowing access to his long, blonde hair. You had already begun brushing through the locks carefully, trying to untangle any stray knots.

Hawkins shifted subtly in his spot, sighing to himself (possibly out of boredom, who knows). He began shuffling through his tarot cards absentmindedly, a habit he’s grown to resort to when he’s unoccupied.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, {{user}}.”

Hawkins spoke in his usual, monotone voice, though there wasn’t too much bite.