Nairn had not expected to travel to Orlais; the country was practically in ruin... but then, the woman he was stalking had nothing but a heart of gold. He should have prepared better; should've headed back the second he started to feel faint, to feel like he was overheating. Something wasn't right with the contraption that kept him alive—but he hadn't wanted to leave her here, in this darkspawn infested land by herself. She could protect herself; he's seen as much over the years.
But he wouldn't be able to live with himself if she got hurt and there was something he could do to prevent that. So he ignored how off he felt, instead sticking to the shadows as he followed after her. She was talking to a merchantman, and he was distracted, watching the way the man spoke to her. Watched her. He didn't expect a dockworker to bump into him. He didn't expect that when he hit the wooden dock, that he'd be unable to get upright.
A rattling breath left his lips, and he groaned under his breath. This wasn't good. Had he overdone it? They were still fine-tuning the mech, sometimes it overheated if he moved too quickly, did too much. It was, admittedly, heart surgery. And that took years to recover from, sometimes it took a life-time. When he finally got himself seated, instead of crouched on one knee, he'd gathered a crowd. Bright white hair tended to draw attention, and his hood had fallen back. He shot a glance towards the merchant she'd been talking to, for the moment she seemed oblivious that there was anything else happening on the dock.
—and his breath caught, because that damned dockworker that had bumped into him was shouting for a healer. Cursing under his breath, he moved to push himself off of the ground, his fingers crumpling under the weight of picking himself up. For the moment, his head was bowed as he muttered curses to himself, face hidden by his hair. He didn't want her to see him, but especially not like this. He wasn't sure when he'd be "well enough" to face her; but right now was definitely not the definition of "well enough". If anything, it was humiliating, embarrassing.
Next time he'd send someone from the Coterie to track after her. His physicians back in the Marches would like that; keeping him home for a while. They fussed every time he was off on his own.
Orlais was not a place she often ventured, but with everywhere being hit hard by the encroaching Eth, supplies and aid were being distributed as widely as possible. Until they found a lead on more pieces of Sylaise, the two were doing the best they could under Meg’s guise as a healer and gardener. Already her small allotment was producing its fair share of healing herbs and other necessities and organising Arlathan’s infirmary had come almost second nature since her days with the Inquisition. At least now, she had some help in the form of Ruth, if only to keep a closer eye on her wayward ‘brother’.
She was also supposed to visit Val Royeaux the first time with Nairn. It stung when her foot hit the first step over the threshold of the docks. The second took a moment to follow after with the memory. In the walk to reach the vendors, Meg’s hand fidgeted with the strap of her satchel debating taking out her pipe for a comforting draw of elfroot. It didn’t matter in the end, the merchant was an old acquaintance so the two quickly became engaged in a conversation for a time.
Only briefly though, as a growing commotion began catching volume that pulled both towards the sound. Someone had collapsed across the way. Meg felt her heartbeat speed up, and quickly excusing herself, took off at a quick pace to see how she could help once catching the need for a healer.
Her head turned, hoping to track down the one calling for a healer, raising her arm to flag him down. Until her foot went through a rotten plank along the dock. Her balance shifted dramatically, her already raised arm was followed by the other while the rest of her pitched and fell to one side. Only, [color=#008e02]“Oh shit”[/color] was heard before in a tumble of limbs, Megara rolled off the platform into the shallow water. [color=#008e02]“Nnnngggg!!!” [/color]
With a sigh and making it back on to her feet, Meg would lean forwards. A hand to her knee propped her up while the other raised itself, yet again, into the air. The smallest wave being offered.[color=#008e02] “I’m a healer.” [/color]
Nairn was cursing even louder, when he watched her step right through a rotten plank. She'd always been so clumsy; that was a big part of why he felt like she needed someone in the shadows looking out for her. The man that had originally shouted for her, waved worriedly, and he grumbled to himself, slamming his clenched hand against the dock.
If he could just find the strength to shove himself upright, maybe he could make it to an eluvian. He didn't even know what she'd be able to do; his ailment wasn't... well, nobodies been able to solve it with magic just yet.
His vision blurred and he settled on the ground fully, one arm keeping him upright. Don't need a healer. He murmured, quietly as she neared the group of people. Just need to get up. Quiet-spoken, gaze directed to his lap. He couldn't tell if the nausea that was creeping through his core was because of the malfunction or because of her proximity and the fear that she might discover who he was.
No, he needed a healer. Just not this one. Anyone but her would do. But he wasn't abrasive enough to dare brushing her help off. Especially not here, where his options were truly limited.
As she neared him, she'd probably pick up on a variety of symptoms that would seem to suggest a heart attack. He wheezed quietly, the hand pressed against his midsection reached to rub at his chest, the metal was too hot.
The crowd began to disperse once the healer arrived, and he grit his teeth. This was definitely not how he'd wanted her to find out he was alive... well, he'd never banked on her ever finding out. He'd been content to watch her live her life from the shadows; had accepted that she was starting to move past his 'death', that eventually he'd watch her settle down with a family for herself. She deserved that life, uncomplicated and simple. He was just a complication. This malfunction was a simple complication.
She was standing near enough now that he could smell the salt-water from her now-wet boot. Help me to a mirror. Got my own docs. An eluvian; most Thedas locals did not call them their given name, but mirror or window more commonly. He didn't look at her, his gaze stayed on the ground. Hiding like a coward behind his hair. He thought he might be able to stand up, now, if he took it slow. And he repositioned himself, first to his knees, and then one foot... then to standing. Though he was relying a lot on a crate that was next to him, to keep himself upright, evident by the way his fingers were death-gripping the material.
Someone gave her a hand, pulling her back onto solid ground and after thanking the dockhand, she made her way through. Catching sight of the hand flagging, she narrowed the search and on her approach she tried to tilt and crane her head to understand the method of injury.
The fair-haired man was crumbled to the ground clutching his chest, protesting. What skin she could see appeared clammy. Shit.[color=#008e02] “Hey there, Mister,” [/color]her soft voice came through as she crouched before him. The wheeze caused her hands to steady his shoulders, pushing his torso back some for a better look of his complexion. [color=#008e02]“I just need a look at you before we get you on your merry wa-”[/color]
The look of cheerful reassurance which she’d usually greet her patients, plummeted as she met an all too familiar set of eyes. Older, pained. What had he done to his hair? Meg’s jaw dropped open, completely dumbstruck as her heart became firmly rooted in her throat. It caused her almost iron stomach to nearly empty. There was a long pause before, [color=#008e02]“Nai-,”[/color] but her lips clamped shut, snuffing out the sound of his name falling from her lips.
Meg couldn’t suppress the hurt brimming in her eyes, the hold over his shoulders loosening and then firming at his words. [color=#008e02]“...Ok.”[/color] Without another word she’d haul him up with strength, few would associate with her small frame, pulling one of his arms over her shoulder to lean on. A quiet rage began to coil in her gut, replacing nausea. Her free hand would wrap around his side, fingertips finding skin. She’d channel some magic, hoping to keep him stable as they attempted an awkward three-legged-stumble to the Eluvian.
She wanted to yell. Scream. Weep. But for the moment Meg was overcome and overwhelmed to find any words. Her head fixed itself ahead, heart tearing itself in two with wanting to look at him, become lost in his face and breaking his nose into a million pieces.
His heart skipped a beat, as she insisted on looking at his complexion; his face. The range of emotions that crossed her face made his already pained expression worse. She choked on his name, and he bit back everything that came to mind to say. Nothing he could say would fix the way she was feeling.
She asked no questions as she hauled him upright. Always were good under pressure, Meghren. He murmured, as they shuffled toward the nearest eluvian. If he'd had it in him, he'd have chuckled. But it wouldn't have been true amusement.
Where her fingers touched flesh, she'd be met with clammy, hot skin. After a few minutes of awkward shuffling, with her magic easing some of his symptoms, they found an eluvian.
Stepping through it, they stood in a back alley in Kirkwall. He shifted to stand on his own, once able to lean against the alley's slick wall for support. A moment's rest, before he pushed off of the wall and reached for her hand. He didn't lean on her, merely used her for balance and her magic.
When it came time to go down steps, into a cellar, he paused and exhaled softly. Coterie safehouse. It was all he said in explanation, before he went down first. There weren't many of the group that would know her; they were liable to attack first and ask questions later if she happened upon the younger members of the growing organization.
As they took the stairs slowly, they'd overhear conversation:
"Boss is looking worse every day. But he pays good."
Another voice responded: "That's all the more reason to keep him alive. He's livin' on borrowed time and he knows it. We know it. Boss doesn't seem to care, though."
The chattering died down as he stepped into the cellar, which had a network of tunnels underneath the city. He doesn't address what he'd heard, because he tripped over the last step and stumbled; with Meg behind of him, he had no-one to catch himself on (and if she were still holding onto his hand, she'd find herself yanked with him).
Catching himself on a nearby table, he hauled himself to sit on its bench. The two dwarves who had been talking hurried towards him. One dwarf undid his cloak, then removed his shirt.
The other laid out a dozen or so tools, and climbed up onto the bench beside of him. "You get hit in the chest, Boss? I hear a rattling that wasn't here when you left a month ago." The inventor accused, as they set to work opening the access panel.
Nairn tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, gasping quietly. His fingers were starting to pale; there wasn't enough blood pumping; he wasn't getting enough oxygen. The inventor snapped at the enchanter, who was readying an etching tool.
"We've got to find a new way to make it permanent, or one of these days you'll wander away and won't make it back in time." The enchanter scolded, as they stood on the bench on his other side, leaning against him to etch runes into the metal plating that covered his collarbone.
The inventor worked calmly, and eventually stepped off the bench, dusting off their hands. "Y'know, if we knew savin' you from that 'splosion meant we were stuck with ya, I think we'd pick different." The enchanter grumbled, as they unhooked a coin purse from Nairn's hip. Shaking it, they tossed it to the inventor and stepped down off their bench as well.
He watched them leave, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing. After a few moments, he closed the access panel on his chest, hooked the little latch that kept it closed, and paused. In his bout of panic, he'd almost forgotten Megara was there. She'd been silent, unnaturally quiet. And that was almost as bad as watching her mourn the deaths of him and all of the rest. He'd watched her mourn for him when she thought no-one was looking... He'd watched her fall to pieces, and then plaster a smile across her face. Nairn hated himself, for never stepping from the shadows, for never finding his way back to her. He hated that he so badly wanted to be well before he let her see him; or to die as he should have.
It was his pride that would be his undoing. Or her silence; how he loved the sound of her voice, her silence was almost deafening. Meg... I can... 'Explain' felt wrong. But that's what it was. Nothing I say will make up for my absence. But may I explain?
She had long abandoned her Dalish name in favour for the common. There were few alive, old enough to remember it, like Ruth, but it was never something he would utter. Not quite a dead name, merely one kept for those who’d earned it. Hearing it again, especially from his fading breath, caused her to flinch involuntarily. She couldn’t breath suddenly, only regaining the action after a few steps.
Frowning at what she felt through touch, Meg’s pace only increased towards the eluvian. She expected them to be elsewhere, not Kirkwall when they walked into the back alley. This had been their home, of course she would recognise it. Still, she couldn’t speak. Even when he shifted to stand on his own, all she could muster was a deepening frown, eyes narrowing with equal disapproval.
But then, again, he distracted her. By taking her hand in his, all her focus went to where hers fit exactly as they had before. And tugging her along like always. Only this time there was no giggle of laughter, no teasing retort. Just silence. His explanation only angered her more, and the familiar-looking tunnels only added further questions even as details began to trickle into a picture. Has he been here…? Hot anger began bubbling, the dangerous undercurrent drawing the attention of the soul.
[color=#aaaaaa]…Da’len?[/color]
[color=#008e02]Don’t. Interfere.[/color]
With both of them stumbling into the room, their hands parted to catch their own selves. While Nairn managed to reach the table to steady himself, Meg was not as lucky, knocking the corner with her hip. When her eyes finally found Nairn again the ‘doc’s’ were already beginning their work, sending her stomach plummeting while eyes widened in horror. Just what the hell had they done to him?
Remaining where she was, Meg observed as best she could, the gnawing anxiety to get a better look had her wringing her hands but she… she was out of her depth here. Meg kept her distance, listening attentively until they left, leaving the two of them alone and a million questions. As he called for her she’d approach, eyes fixed on his feet first, her jaw taut with tension. Slowly they’d trace the rest of him to his chest. Stretching her hand over, a soft light fell over the mechanism pumping, keeping him here with her. A ghostly image of the working mechanism glimmered into life, rotating to give her every angle.
Her glance was brief, unsure if he was really there or this was some vivid dream. This was a shitty dream if so. [color=#008e02]“How long,”[/color] she began, voice a whisper, but then firmed as that hot anger became reignited. [color=#008e02]“How long have you been in my shadow?”[/color] Been that breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck? [color=#008e02]“Ho-Why would you let me think...? Years. YEARS. I have spent broken, in pieces, faking a smile so no-one sees. How. Long?”[/color]
He was staring at the illusion of the mechanism in his chest, bewildered. How'd you... do that? He murmured, reaching out to try to touch the hologram; though obviously his hand fazed right through it. He withdrew his hand sharply, as if he'd been burned, as she started to speak again. She looked at him with such horror in her eyes, when she truly saw him.
Anger washed over him with an intensity that he'd never felt before. But he wasn't angry; so whose anger...? If he focused, he could almost seem the shimmer of a violently colored aura glimmering around the woman in question, whose anger came through her tone and voice as if that was all she knew. He knew better, though. He's heard her laugh, seen her smile, heard her whisper sweet promises to the wind. But right now, she was angry.
His gaze lingered on the 'gram, and then he focused on her. Seven. She'd asked a question; that was the answer. A handful of their ten years separate had been spent recuperating. But as soon as he had been able, he'd been trailing after her like a shadow she couldn't shake.
She'd asked another question, though. And that one made him shift nervously in his seat. Afraid you'd look at me like that. He murmured sourly to himself, quiet enough that she might not hear him. That's not the only reason, he chided himself mentally. And he tapped the metal plating of his chest. It limits me.
His nail scraped across the metal, and he murmured, Didn't want to show myself in case I die. No point in mourning me twice. And it was a real possibility given the nature of the tech, the dwarves had been clear with him on that. They didn't know how long it'd work, when it'd stop, or how long they could keep fixing it.
You heard 'em. Borrowed time. Tick. Tock. He gestured to the diagram, as if that explained it all.
It was natural how her frown briefly flowered into a grin of delight with his surprise. For a moment they were back in those days, where he’d sit in awe as she worked, re-knit flesh and bone, and brewed potions that didn’t taste of bile. Yet it faltered as her emotions slipped out with her words.
When he answered, lips parted in shocked silence before she took a deep breath. So, years then. [color=#008e02]“I knew it. Ruth said I was just imagining it.”[/color] Which brought up another question, did that other idiot know? Her hands returned to her sides, clenching into little fists as Nairn continued to answer her few questions.
Excuses. Her head snapped around, glaring at him. [color=#008e02]“I. Am. A. Fucking. Healer.” [/color]Hands flew between them, gesturing as quickly the common tongue was replaced by frantic, punctuated and maddening dalish. While the words may not be familiar to Nairn, the meaning was easy to follow. [color=#008e02]“You god-damn son of a bitch. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? -Did you also hit your head when that god-damn building exploded? I could have helped. I’ve been living life as a fucking ghost because you…- you goddamn coward, you still don’t get it, after all this time, Nairn.” [/color]
She had to take a breath, but her gaze never left him, even as the quiet tears began. [color=#008e02]“I could have helped. I can still help. Do you think it was better for me, believing you were dead? No! It was fucking hell. You were and still are, ma vhenan.” [/color]
Nairn studied her, watched her hands as she punctuated each word. Dalish, he only caught bits and pieces that he understood. And even when it devolved into Dalish that he couldn't follow, the meaning was easy to understand with context.
And then she was crying. He was quiet, until she declared that he was still her heart; her soul; and he exhaled quietly. Reached for her, to pry her fingers from her palms. Pulled her to sit next to him. And once he's pried at least one hand from digging nails into her own flesh, he'd bring her hand to his chest.
Wasn't my choice, you know. There was no heartbeat; nothing but the hum of machinary. You can't heal what ain't there. He drifted off again, studying her face. And after a quiet moment, he reached to wipe her eyes, his thumb gentle as he swept it underneath her eyes.
'sides, you got out of this. Why would I wanna bring you back in? He gestured to the tunnel systems. You're better than a thief and a smuggler, and you know it. I promised you, a long time ago, that you'd get out. No, he'd promised they'd get out. And that hadn't happened.
Caressing her face with the hand that had wiped her tears, he sighed. Ir abelas, ma vhenan.
Her mother tongue only surfaced when common failed to express adequately how furious something made her. Her tears fell between rasped breaths. The years alone to then discover he was alive all this time crushed her. When his fingers brushed against her skin at first she pulled back, but her force was moot, easily succumbing to his guidance as she settled on the table next to him.
Eyes tracked where he took her hand, her palm splayed out against the thrumming engineering where his heart should be. She’d glance back at where the hollow lingered, returning to find him studying her.[color=#008e02] “It’s still there…” [/color]well. Not quite, but she knew he’d understand she meant metaphorically. He’d wipe her tears, body trembling, torn between elation and fury.
Megara scoffed. [color=#008e02]“You never brought me in and I was never a thief, either. That was always your job.”[/color] Despite the storm of emotion going on around her, she still had some sense to crack a joke. Though it fell again into frustration as he bent the truth, again. [color=#008e02]“You said, we would. Nothing about leaving me behind.”[/color] Because that's what happened, three months after the explosion and hope of any more survivors trickling home had finally wilted. Meg woke up to a note slipped under her door. Don’t come in anymore. Debts been cancelled. John-Marc says you ain’t bound to the C anymore.
Abandoned. Alone, again.
Fresh tears pricked at her eyes, lips trembled trying to keep the sobs in with his words, his face so close and his hands cradling her head. [color=#008e02]“Sorry, doesn’t make the years without you hurt less, Nairn.”[/color] Her fist flew upwards, smacking him in the shoulder. Meg wanted to hit him more, even lifting the other a fraction before thinking better of it. Brows slew upwards and that look of oh shit! passed over her. She understood nothing about his chest piece, “it limits me,” came ringing back, eyes settling on it again before lifting them back to meet his.
Reaching up, fingers brushed across his chin, almost shaking, expecting him to disappear like nearly every morning. She pushed a lock of his hair back behind his ear. [color=#008e02]“You're still as stupidly shy and selfish as ever, vhenan. Do not think you can sway my.. I am so mad.. but when you talk like that... goddamn you.” [/color]
Nairn watched her, as she glanced between the holo and himself. And when she teased him, he chuckled softly. Aye, it was, wasn't it? My girl kept her hands nice and clean... He mused, drifting off as she claimed he abandoned her again. Or did she mean the Coterie as a whole?
He doesn't ask. It isn't important. Yeah. I said we, and I screwed that up. It isn't self-depreciating, rather, stated matter-of-factly. She was crying fresh again, and her fist hit his shoulder.
Certainly made an impact, but nothing he'd fuss over. Her other hand shifted, before she seemed to think twice. My apology isn't meant to take your hurt away, Megara. He tapped her cheek with his thumb. I just need you to know I'm sorry. She didn't have to accept it; though something told him she'd forgive him in time.
As her hands found his face, he tilted his face upwards, shifting towards her. Mhm. No denying that which you know best. He teased, as she declared him shy and selfish. After a moment, his gaze slipping over her features, he leaned to press a kiss to her forehead.
He pulled her for a proper hug, C'mon, wanna get out the common room. People gonna start comin' in from jobs. He doesn't say where they're going; he'd aim to pull her to her feet and lead her through one of the various corridors.
[color=#008e02]“Pfft, if you call, putting your or anyone else's insides back in, clean work,”[/color] her head shook. her eyes narrowed, but the anger had begun to simmer once the tears began sliding over her cheeks.
She said nothing as he took the blame for their plans going sideways. Though while pondering her own loneliness she couldn’t help but dwell on how it must pale in comparison to the pain and suffering he’d endured day in day out with death an ever constant possibility. If she’d been in a more rational state, Meg would understand, empathise with it better, yet the shock and suddenness, the constant lying, would be something she needed to work through.
The tap to her cheek had her sucking in a breath, mind transported back to old days when he’d do it to make his point clear. Sometimes a promise. Sometimes just three taps because he couldn’t say the three words he wanted to. Too many people for that. [color=#008e02]“I… ok. But I am still incredibly mad at you.”[/color] Tugging his ear for good measure when he teased her further. [color=#008e02]“Ass.” [/color]
Her heart could have burst all over again when he leaned to kiss across her forehead. It was surreal to be in his arms, having his warmth around her after such a long absence. Meg’s senses were assaulted, breathing him in before her arms tightened around his waist, squeezing as tightly as possible before releasing him.[color=#008e02] “Mhm. Sure.” [/color]Meg would let him lead her through, heart both lighter, but heavy and worried with a new fresh fear.
[color=#aaaaaa]We should find June. He could help. [/color]
[color=#008e02]Maybe… let's just put one foot in front for the next… five minutes.. ok?[/color]
He led them through a few different tunnels, and they passed a few people, though no-one paid too much mind to Nairn. If anything, they were staring at his companion, pointing and whispering as they were left behind.
Eventually they step up to a hatch in a floor, and he pushes the trapdoor open, climbing up the ladder. At the top, he kneels and waits to pull her through, shutting and locking the hatch as it closes.
Welcome to my office. He's seated on the floor, studying the room around them. The room's fitted with a large desk, papers, files, notebooks strewn across the desks top. There's a vault in one corner, dedicated to keeping the Coterie funding safe.
He eventually found his feet, and moved to clear off the couch, covered in various folders and items. Messy, been away a while. He rolled up a map, and placed it elsewhere.
The couch was cleared now, and he settled onto it, pulling his shirt, which he'd brought with him through the corridors, on. Buttoning it slowly. C'mere, vhenan. He crooked a finger at her, patting the seat next to him, though he really wanted to pull her onto his lap. Now that there was no danger of anyone catching them together, he had no issue with more drastic PDA.
Gosh, he'd really never outgrown his issue with public affection. Some part of him had hoped that ten years in the future, he'd be able to kiss her and hold her in public.
Do you have more questions? Or would you... He chewed his lip, uncertain how to ask outright to hold her. To see if she'd curl up on this couch with him and let him just breathe in her scent. His face has flushed, the tips of his ears bright red. Made even worse by his light hair. ...maybe lay down with me? His voice is quiet, as if he's embarrassed. And he certainly looks embarrassed.
She didn’t care eyes would be on her. Nairn’s habit of keeping people at a distance was bound to attract looks and attention when he led someone by hand through the smugglers' tunnels. Meg’s eyes trained between their hands and his back, noting how long his hair had become and wondering when he’d last trusted someone to cut it.
Once navigating the warren of turns and hatches, he’d lead them to his office. Meg silently took it all in as they paused, sitting on the floor next to him once through. The papers, files, all the work and planning that went into the Coterie’s operations lay strewn about in typical Nairn order. Chaotic to all but himself.
She’d follow as he rose to his feet, watching him fix the couch as her mind reeled. Why hadn’t he been back? More questions, and perhaps later, more answers would come, but Meg tried to remain calm, focused despite being assaulted left and right by new details revealing clues about their years apart.
As he started fixing back on his shirt, Meg needed little encouragement to join him on the couch, hands immediately helping him, ensuring he hadn’t missed or buttoned one wrongly. [color=#008e02]“You always miss one,”[/color] lips curling at one corner as she did indeed find a mis-matched button, smoothing it out. Maybe he did it deliberately, knowing she would always notice, or it was just a happenstance of him trying to be quick? In either case, she didn’t mind. It gave her the excuse to be close to him, to touch him, even when it was completely innocently.
As fingers played with the last button, Meg shook her head with his question. [color=#008e02]“Maybe later… I…”[/color] she watched him nibble down on his lower lip, chuckling through her nose as his face warmed up with the suggestion. Her hand would reach for his cheek, running her thumb genly along the jawline. Meg's head tilted, eyes narrowing slightly. [color=#008e02]“Only, if you let me fix your hair. Do you have scissors?”[/color] She did, but those were medical ones, voice continued to tease as she cast a look around. [color=#008e02]“I’m not walking around with you and your raggedy ends.” [/color]
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.
