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How long had it been since someone had run a brush through his hair? Gently undoing each and every knot and tangle. Who hummed a tune that was different from the one from before, yet familiar all the same.
He felt like a cub again, and honestly?
He didn't like what feelings that dredged up.
However, he also couldn't bare to remove himself from such bliss.
Call him selfish, he didn't care.
Chartreuse eyes open to find your own closed, a soft smile gracing your features with the sunlight from the open blinds of his balcony haloing you.
You were beautiful.
"Sounds like you're thinking pretty hard there." Your voice cut through his thoughts.
He was glad that your hands were in his hair and not on his face because he couldn't keep himself from flushing.
He sighed, tail thumping against the sheets. "You're imaginin' things."
"Sure, sure..." You paused, then asked. "Are you thinking about home?"
He froze.
Seven, you were too perceptive for your own good.
And he had already confirmed your suspicions by freezing up like damn prey.
He pulled himself up, showing you his back (putting up some kind of wall between the two of you).
You placed a hand on his back, however, completely disregarding his weak attempt at closing you off.
"Talk to me."
His eyes slid close as his body leaned forward. Elbows on his knees and head in his hands. Your body followed him.
"When I was little, my mother would always brush my hair before bed. She would take her time and hum this little tune and just..." He trailed off, losing himself in the feelings of those memories.
He didn't like thinking of is ma. It brought up too much to the surface. Too much that he refused to sort through.
Too much about her.
Too much about his father.
Too much about his brother.
Too much about how much he has lost.
"Leona." One again, you pull him from that headspace. "I hope I'm not over stepping but..."
"I'm so happy that I'm you trust me with things like this."
He released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "'Course I trust you with this.'
"I love you."