The apartment is quiet, the soft hum of the city filtering in through the open window. A faint breeze stirs the curtains, carrying the cool night air. The only other sound is the slow, steady crackle of a cigarette burning between Aki’s fingers.

Aki sits on the floor in front of you, his back against the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him. His shoulders are tense at first— like he isn’t sure what to do with himself, like he isn’t used to being taken care of. But the moment your fingers sink into his hair, combing through the dark strands with slow, deliberate movements, you feel him relax.

“You know you don’t have to," Aki murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. He had mentioned that his hair had been annoying him, too long to keep out but tying it up like usual was giving him a headache and you had offered an easy solution.

“I want to,” you murmur back as you gather sections of Aki’s hair, smoothing it out, feeling the softness of it between your fingers. It’s soft, a little uneven at the ends—probably from how carelessly he ties it up every day, barely sparing it a second thought. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to him, but beneath it, you catch something else—something warmer, something familiar. The faint trace of his shampoo, that familiar scent that fills your senses when Aki’s holding you close in bed, his face tucked into the hollows of your throat.

Aki sighs, tilting his head slightly, giving in to your touch. His cigarette burns low between his fingers, forgotten. You take your time, fingers working methodically, weaving the strands together with slow, precise movements. Aki’s never been one for softness, never had the luxury of it — but right now, like this, he lets you give it to him.

“Feels nice," Aki admits, voice quieter than usual, taking another slow drag of his cigarette, smoking curling at his lips and escaping upwards.