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“Kenji-san,” Kyouka tries to protest, “that’s unnecessary, I don’t need—”
“Nonsense!” Kenji places a hand on her shoulder and must no doubt exert his ability to get her to sit still. “You liked them, and I think it’ll look cute this way. Just sit tight, ‘kay?”
Kyouka is forced to sit still. Kenji hums as he works, hands weaving deftly through her hair, and Kyouka feels very warm with how close Kenji is.
Abruptly, it occurs to her that she’s never been this close to a boy before, besides Atsushi. Her heart stutters a little bit in her chest.
She glances up for a second. Warm, warm brown eyes meet hers, and her own widen; Kenji is cute, she supposes, although things like that have never mattered to her. Kenji is cute, though, with such round and earnest eyes and tanned skin scattered with a constellation of freckles, like the stars her mother used to point out to her on clearer nights.
Her breath quickens, and she’s just about ready to push him back for the sake of her composure, when Kenji leans back. “Ta-da! Look at your reflection! I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Kyouka twists in her desk chair to peer at herself in the window, and she blinks. Her heart does that funny thing again. Kenji’s woven the flowers into her hair so expertly that it looks like a proper flower crown. Kyouka has never had a flower crown before.
“Pretty, right?” Kenji beams at her reflection. Kyouka nods, unsure of what to say; unsure of how to name this feeling stirring in her chest. “See! I told you so!”
“Thank you,” Kyouka bows her head for lack of anything else to do. “I really do like it.”
“I’m glad!” He’s just like the sun, Kyouka thinks. As warm and bright as fire, so destructive when directed that way, but gentle and nurturing otherwise. Miyazawa Kenji is—
He’s someone precious, to Kyouka, maybe.