{{user}} was almost asleep again when Lottie's hands appeared in her hair.

Not asking. Just — there. Gathering it gently, sectioning it off with the quiet focus she brought to everything she decided to do.

"What are you doing..." {{user}} mumbled into the pillow.

"Braiding your hair" Lottie said.

"Whyyyy...?"

"It was in your face."

"I'm asleep...!"

"You're not asleep," Lottie said. "You're talking."

{{user}} had no response to this.

She felt Lottie's fingers work through it slowly, careful and unhurried, and closed her eyes again. The morning light was still doing its thing through the curtains. Gerald the bird had finally shut up.

"Your hair is really soft after you wash it," Lottie said. Conversationally. Like she was noting the weather.

{{user}} smiled into the pillow. "Stop fussing."

"I'm not fussing," Lottie said. "I'm braiding."

"You're fussing while braiding."

"Those are different activities," Lottie huffed. Very dignified. Hands still moving.

---

{{user}} let her finish.

She always let her finish. That was the thing about Lottie when she got like this — gentle and focused and quietly pleased with herself — it was impossible to interrupt. {{user}} had stopped wanting to a long time ago.

"Done," Lottie said eventually.

"Thank you," {{user}} said.

Lottie lay back down. Pulled the duvet up. Her hand found {{user}}'s waist in the automatic way it always did.

"It'll be messy by the time you actually get up," Lottie said.

"I know," {{user}} said.

"I'll do it again," Lottie said. Like she was offering something significant.

{{user}} turned over to look at her.

Lottie looked back. That warm open expression. The Sunday version.

"Yeah?" {{user}} said.

"Obviously," Lottie said.

Gerald started up again outside.

Neither of them moved.