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“This is your fault, you know.” You grit your teeth as you pressed your plastered wrist to the crown of your head, the other hand awkwardly trying to squeeze a brush between neck and shoulder to smooth your hair down, shooting a glare at the man’s reflection in your mirror.
Jacob was smiling.
Was he ever not smiling?
“‘Course it is.”
No: smirking.
He pushed off the door of your dorm room, taking a few easy steps to hop up onto the edge of your bed, catching your eyes in the mirror again as he began spinning the fringe of your blanket around his fingers.
Your cool gaze narrowed, unsure if he was being facetious. It was his fault you’d fallen, after all. If he hadn’t grabbed your rucksack before he’d run hooting out onto the ice, if he hadn’t teased and wheedled and pouted for you to come join, watching you with that mischievous grin as he’d slipped his fingers into your bag (if you hadn’t been a little too aware of what you’d had in that bag, how you really didn’t want him pulling that out for the whole campus to see…) then you wouldn’t have run out after him, wouldn’t have slipped on the ice, tripped on the frozen branch poking out of it, and attempted to catch yourself on what was now a very injured wrist.
“It is.” Your tone was flat, wry, reassured of your correctness. You continued your attempt at tugging the tangles out of your hair. You almost had it all done, but you’d been working on it for nearly half an hour now. And pulling it back was going to be a pain as well, but you didn’t want to go to class with it down, either, not with the blustering wind outside sure to make a mess of it before your Very Important Presentation later. The final tug made you wince, but at least it was over.
You caught Jacob’s curious gaze in the reflection once more before using your good hand to comb back through your locks, considering your best course of action. Lips set in a determined line, you did your best to make a ponytail - first with your good hand then, awkwardly, with some assistance of your plastered wrist. A quick twirl was easy-ish, pulling the lot of it into a twisted bun. A few attempts later, half-casted fingers wiggled painfully - pathetically - as you pushed the hair elastic down your good wrist and over the lump of hair-- where it very quickly sagged. You scowled.
At the small huff of laughter you turned an accusing glare on your - what was he, even? Your almost boyfriend, your ‘we thought about hooking up that one time, but he was drunk’ - expecting more of the same wicked glee at your failure. Instead, you saw an odd softness in his expression, his crooked grin less smirk and more… affection, maybe. Whatever it was. That look that made your stomach flip and heat creep up your neck.
He stood from where he’d been perched, walking up behind you as he stripped off his winter gloves, tossing them over his shoulder carelessly before reaching for your hairbrush.
Your good hand reached out to grab his wrist. “Excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing?” Your eyebrows had shot up incredulously. “If you think I’m about to trust you, when this presentation is going to be half my midterm-”
Jacob’s slight smirk returned as he shrugged off your hold easily. “I think you forget I have a sister.”
That was enough to quiet you, though you still watched with narrowed eyes, folding your hands into your lap in acquiescence. You tried to ignore the goosebumps rising on your skin at his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he undid the hair tie, slipping it onto his own wrist. A firm hand rested on the crown of your head, as you’d attempted before, running the brush through in long strokes far more efficient than yours had been. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting as the nubbly bristles scraped gently against your skin.
“I used to braid Evie’s hair sometimes. Especially - there was this one time, she was in a cycling accident, hurt her collarbone, couldn’t raise her arm above her shoulder.” You hadn’t expected his fingers to be so deft, so nimble, as he ran them through your hair, sectioning pieces and brushing the rest over one shoulder. “It was- well, actually, it was a little pathetic. Only took one day to have her in tears.”
Your eyes widened before you shot him an incredulous look in the mirror. “Evie?” You’d never even imagined Jacob’s sister crying.
He nodded with a crooked smile. “She’s not ‘specially fond of being restricted. I mean - you’ve seen her, range of movement is important.” He shrugged, starting to weave strands of hair over and under one another. “Anyway, she was so frustrated, she was about to order me to cut it all off. Instead, grabs a book and shoves it at me -- yeah, even injured she could still knock me on my ass -- and orders me to do something.”
“And you did.” You didn’t quite believe him. “Because you’re… such an accommodating brother?” It didn’t exactly sound like the Jacob you knew, who just the day before had pelted his sister in the back of the head with a snowball while she was talking with her history TA.
Those hazel eyes sparked as he caught your gaze in the mirror and he gave the half-finished braid a soft tug. You hastily stifled the involuntary noise caught in your throat at the sensation, trying to ignore the flush sweeping over your skin, glancing away quickly but not quick enough to miss that self-satisfied smirk. Still, he didn’t tease you about it, his voice sardonic. “Because she threatened to shave my head if I didn’t cooperate. And I wouldn’t put it past her, either -- she’s a plotter, that one. I would’ve woken in my bed half bald.”
A small smile lit on your lips as well, at that. Sounded about right.
Jacob’s fingers twirled the elastic around one braid before moving to the other side, once more combing through your hair in a way that made you shift in your seat. “Stop fidgeting.” His command was half-teasing rather than demanding, tugging at your hair again. “You’ll make them uneven.”
You rolled your eyes but settled once more, trying desperately to ignore that brief moment his actions had made your insides jelly. “So you learned to braid for Evie.”
“I did,” he nodded. “Learned braids first. Then, once I got tired of her making me braid her hair all the time, learned knots.”
Knots-- You jerked away from his hold, but it was firm, unyielding, keeping you in place, his grin wicked at the involuntary groan that slipped from your mouth. You did your best to dismiss it, hoping your angry look excused the heat on your skin. “Jacob Frye you had better not be-”
His brows had lifted in delight, grin broadening, “Had better knot be?”
Your glare was scathing. Stupid boy. Stupid puns.
“I’m not, love. Or - I’m not knot-ing it, just braiding, I promise.” There was a sort of mocking reassurance in his tone, in that familiar smirk, but you believed him enough. Still, you watched with eagle eyes as he finished off your second braid before untying the first to complete some sort of complex manoeuvre to weave the two together, first tying it off and then reaching for a couple bobby pins and expertly opening them with his teeth before pinning away the stray strands. “All done.”
Grudgingly, you had to admit it looked quite good.