my heart's on fire—anditsdefinitelynotbecauseofyou

Nairn tensed for a moment, as her hands found his shirt, she trailed after him, checking each button. And after a moment, she'd caught a mistake and fixed it, and he'd relaxed. Just like old times.

He was very aware of her touch, her fingers fiddling with the final button of the set, her hand tracing his jaw. And when she brought attention to his hair, he snorted, You're gonna make Matilde jealous. He joked, pushing himself upright to lean around her, reaching for a pile of cut papers.

Coming free with scissors, he grinned at her. She's been begging to cut my hair for years. But it'd never be the same; he'd rather his hair grow out and look raggedy, than let someone else touch it.

One arm curled around her middle, fingers idly tapping against her hip, as he held the scissors up. You ain't cutting my hair in here, though. Gardens? He suggested, though he made no move to get up, or to nudge her to get up. As if he's forgotten that he'd just said she can't cut his hair here.

@[Megara Fern]