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Cole's fringe was in his eyes.
Once she noticed this, Séverine found her own eyes drifting towards him more often; quite the feat, seeing as her eyes had always seemed to seek him out anyway, as if she were afraid he would disappear for good, quiet as he came.
(He never did, but that didn't stop her from worrying.)
Cole's fringe was in his eyes, and he had taken to pawing at it ungracefully whenever it hung limply in his face, no doubt making it difficult for him to see. It couldn't be safe, wielding daggers as sharp as the tongue of an Antivan while one was seeing the world through a veil of stringy blonde hair.
With that in mind, she grabbed a pair of scissors from Josephine's desk (thankful the good lady ambassador was away, enabling her to avoid any questions) and headed to the tavern. The music was somber, almost sleepy, and the people seemed to match it. She waved at Krem as she passed his usual table, sparing him a quick smile when he raised his flagon in acknowledgment, before making her way up the stairs.
Cole stood in his usual spot, observing a far wall with dreamy intensity.
“Cole,” Séverine greeted.
He looked at her, and smiled slightly. “It's good you came to talk to me.”
The frankness of these declarations had surprised her at first, but not anymore—Cole was her friend, and a close one. She wondered, for a moment, what their friendship would be like if she'd sided with Solas over Varric all those weeks go, but decided it was better not to linger on such things. She didn't regret it, and more importantly, neither did Cole.
“I have something for you,” she told him.
“Scissors?” Cole said, voice lilting in question. Séverine had not yet revealed them to him, but she was not surprised he knew they were held behind her back. “My daggers are sharper.”
“I'm not giving them to you. I'm going to cut your hair.”
Cole cocked his head to the side, his floppy hat tipping with it. She sometimes wondered if it was glued to his head.
“But I like my hair,” he said simply.
“I don't want to cut all of it,” she assured him. “Just the fringe. A little trim, so it doesn't get in your eyes. You need to be able to see, don't you?”
“But I can see,” he insisted. He was sulking slightly, the way he did when he wasn't quite getting it.
She crossed her arms, but her smile was gentle. “You could see better if you let me trim it for you. Just a little. I can tell it bothers you sometimes. Let me help you, for once.”
“But you do help me,” he said. Quiet, confused, genuine. “All the time.”
She uncrossed her arms, feeling a rush of affection for him that wasn't wholly unfamiliar. Cole had said as much, had thanked her for always worrying about him, and she believed him when he said he was grateful. Knowing it was one thing, but hearing it was another thing entirely. Perhaps she was simply unused to people being so transparent with their intentions and thoughts. Perhaps that's why she had always fought in Cole's corner, despite the distrust and distaste he seemed to inspire in so many others wherever he went, once they knew what he was (if he had let them know, if they had been allowed to remember).
“I want to help you a little more, then,” she said finally. “I promise I won't cut much off. And it won't hurt.”
“You wouldn't hurt me,” he said, and it was a statement, not a question. He was right.
She led him to a chair and prodded him until he sat, awkward and hunched, staring up at her with blue eyes that seemed less sad than they once were. Or maybe she just knew them better, now? It was hard to tell. She took off his hat and sat it on a nearby table, gently, almost reverently, knowing he was very fond of it. She tilted his face up a little more, trying to figure out where to begin.
“You've never done this before,” he said, accusing but not at all unkind. “But you've thought of it—of cutting my hair. You were worried I would get hurt because my hair made it hard to see. You thought it was uncomfortable for me, and that bothered you.”
“Got it in one,” she said wryly, readying the scissors and moving his face into a better position with a finger on his chin. “I have longer hair than you, and there's a reason I always wear it in a knot.”
“You wear it like that because you think it suits you better,” he said promptly. “A man at the Circle with kind eyes and auburn hair said your face was too pretty to be hidden. You liked his beard.”
“Alright, yes,” she sighed, not even slightly surprised to be called out. Cole was hard to keep secrets from. “But it's also practical. Having hair hanging in your eyes is not.”
“Yes,” Cole agreed hesitantly. She began to trim his fringe while he sat preternaturally still, eyes never leaving her face. She got the feeling he was agreeing for her sake, and not for his own; either way, she was grateful he trusted her.
“Are you frightened?” She asked, more amused than concerned. They both knew he was safe.
“More...nervous,” he admitted haltingly, as if he was unsure that was the right word. “I've never had a haircut before.”
She wondered if his hair had grown at all, back when he was less human and more spirit.
“There's nothing to be nervous about,” she assured him, snipping away a few errant strands. “I always hated haircuts when I was a child, but that was probably because I hated sitting still long enough to let someone do it.”
“You were always moving, pushing, commanding attention even as you shied away from it,” he said, his voice hushed, austere but familiar. “You were scared to sit still, because you thought you had to be the best; you knew what happened to mages who weren't strong enough.”
As accustomed as she was to his particular brand of insight, he still occasionally managed to catch her off guard. She let out a small laugh and shook her head, gently prodding his face until he turned it enough for her to easily (if not very skillfully) trim the last of his too-long fringe.
“It was difficult,” she confirmed. “But I think I knew I would be okay.”
“I'm glad,” he told her. “That you knew, and that you were.”
With one final snip, she was finished. She set the borrowed scissors down on the table and took a step back, tilting her head to the side to admire her work. Not perfect, but certainly better than it had been before. Perhaps she would try to cut Sera's, next.
“Not bad,” she said. “Handsome. And less likely to get you killed.”
“Thank you,” he said, still staring up at her. His eyes were bright, and she was glad they were easier to see. “For worrying. And for helping. A lot of people want to help, but not everyone tries.”
“We can't all be you, Cole,” she joked, pulling him to his feet.
“No,” he said solemnly. “Only I can be me.”
“Wouldn't have it any other way,” she said, and handed him his hat.