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Lexa adores that cute pout on Clarke’s face when she focuses on a difficult detail. Her pencil makes shorter strokes, she gives her glances more often, smiles hesitantly when their eyes meet.
“What are you drawing so carefully?” Lexa asks as she catches the other’s gaze again.
“Did you know that your braids are very difficult to get right?”
No, Lexa didn’t know that, but she can imagine it. Everything is hard to draw right.
“Should I let my hair down?”
“Maybe next time.”
The next time Lexa lies on the furs in the candlelight, wearing no braids –– or clothes.