Even now, as your fingers glide through Viole’s hair, the comb abandoned the day before in favor of blunt, meticulous nails—he’s not sure. Your hands are clumsy on Viole’s scalp, fumbling as you fight to keep a strand from coming loose. Your breathing is even and your legs are warm where they grip Viole’s shoulders on either side, the contact inevitable.

Maybe Viole knew he would like it. The awkward tugs—momentary pain—the mumbled apologies came so fast that Viole could feel them warm against his scalp, and Khun laughed as he read his book. It’s a comforting thing.

You mumble another apology as you struggle to keep a strand between your fingers, not tugging enough for Viole to feel anything, but—well, Viole finds herself content to remain quiet, accepting whatever words you want to give her.

It’s been a while, that’s all. And his voice is soft when he speaks, caught in the air between them. Viole’s face always heats up when you come near, and it doesn’t subside until he’s gone, and Khun finds that admirable.

There’s another accidental tug on his scalp, and this is Viole. You curse, one hand carefully splayed over his head to hold the progress of his braids in place while the other rests on where you’d pulled, soothing with a gentle touch.

You apologize in a whisper, your voice as sweet as honeysuckle, so the quiet Viole has to tilt his head to hear you.

Viole senses that speaking will disturb your silence and Khun’s reading, so he gives an imperceptible nod and straightens his head. There’s a moment before you continue, slowing your pace to be more gentle.

You ask if Viole was tired. Viole let his eyes close for a moment, his careful attentions enveloping him.

Just thinking.* Is what he decides, tensing before he does something foolish - like sinking into her warmth.*

Don't think too much,* his tone takes on a familiar lightness as Khun sipped his coffee with the book open in his hands.* I wouldn't know what to do if your ears started to smoke.