The warm, inviting glow of the fire danced across the room as you sipped your drink, sinking comfortably into Rossi's plush couch. The evening was winding down, the hum of earlier laughter having softened into an easy, contented silence. You leaned back, your fingers absentmindedly combing through his thick, silver-white hair, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you felt its softness glide through your fingertips.

“Your hair is so soft, Rossi,” you teased as you twirled a small section of his hair between your fingers like a child discovering a new toy.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his lips curling into an amused smirk. “Is that why you keep playing with it? Or is this just your way of avoiding heading home?”

“Maybe both,” you quipped without missing a beat, reaching into your bag and pulling out a small elastic you’d forgotten was in there. Your eyes lit up mischievously as you held it up. “Don’t move. I have an idea.”

“What are you up to now?” Rossi asked, his tone caught between curiosity and resignation. He didn’t bother pulling away, already resigned to your antics.

“Improving perfection,” you said dramatically, gathering a small section of hair from the side of his head. You deftly tied it into a tiny, crooked ponytail, your lips twitching as you tried, and failed, to keep from giggling.

Rossi groaned, though his faux irritation was undermined by the undeniable smile creeping onto his face. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly as if to test the resilience of your handiwork.