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Despite the new people having been rotated in only a month before, Munroe had spent enough time with a couple of them to recognize at least some habits and quirks. Which was, why he immediately knew, what Kisa had in her mind, when she asked him, if he had anything planned for that evening.
“You want to do my hair again, don’t you?” Munroe asked.
“Of course!” Kisa grinned. “So?”
“Sure, why not…”
The living quarters were at the other end of the bunker. Walking in complete silence was awkward, so Munroe asked first thing, that came to his mind:
“Why don’t you grow out your own hair? You wouldn’t have to ask people to let you do theirs, then.” He nodded at the short, wavy bob Kisa was sporting.
Its pale green colour, along with her magenta eyes, was even bigger indicator of previous resurrection, than the stitched cuts extending from the corners of Kisa’s mouth to her jaw joints. Munroe had no idea, what had happened to her, but it couldn’t have been pretty – Kisa was a cook (and, in her free time, an amateur hairdresser), not a soldier. How could she have died, if she stayed in the bunker all the time?
“It’s not the same, when you’re doing your own hair, you know?” Kisa answered. “Besides, short hair is more convenient in my line of work. Easier to fit under the net.” She squinted. “I think I should bother the higher-ups for more fruit and vegetables in the rations. I can see, you’re lacking vitamins.”
“How come?”
“It’s in your hair!” Kisa gestured to Munroe’s head. “It’s so thin and without shine… And so dry! Like hay! Or feathers.”
“Feathers?”
“Yeah. Of some very unfortunate bird.”
Munroe snorted.
It wasn’t the first time, someone compared his hair to feathers…
“Have you combed your hair today?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s sticking out everywhere! You look like you had feathers on your head!” Eriche carded his fingers through Munroe’s hair in an attempt of fixing the wild strands.
“Feathers?” Munroe raised his eyebrows. “Is that, why you call me ‘Swan’ all the time?”
It had been a while, a longer one, since Eriche had come up with that nickname, and yet Munroe still didn’t know, what the origin of it was.
“Nope!” Eriche replied.
He then licked his index, middle and ring fingers and ran them down the side of Munroe’s scalp, trying to smoothen a very stubborn lock.
“Then why? You have to finally tell me!”
“Guess it first!” Eriche took a step back to survey his work. “Damn, this is no use…” he muttered. “Where did you put your comb? Or no, wait…”
Munroe watched, as Eriche stretched to grab something from his bunk – he took the upper one.
“Alright, now don’t move.” He stood behind Munroe, hairbrush in hand, and carefully brushed the brown strands.
For a while, there was silence – comfortable one.
Relaxing, even. It felt good to have one’s hair taken care of…
“When the war ends, will you marry me?”
“What?!” Munroe turned his head abruptly.
“Look forward! And lower your voice, someone might be on the corridor.” Eriche sounded slightly annoyed.
“Sorry…” Munroe did, as told. “Are you proposing to me?”
“Yep!”
“Without a ring?” he asked jokingly.
“How am I supposed to get a ring here?!” The exasperation in Eriche’s voice was clearly fake.
“I don’t know. You’re creative, you’ll figure it up.”
“Hmpf.”
Munroe didn’t have to see his face to know, that Eriche was pouting.
Room Kisa lived in was built exactly like other living quarters – it was cramped and had two pairs of bunks on opposite walls. What caught Munroe’s attention was a huge mirror in the middle of the wall framed by some sketches – he recognized a couple of bunker’s inhabitants…
…One of them being him.
“Astra likes to draw people around her in her spare time,” Kisa explained, noticing Munroe staring at the picture of himself. “You can take it, she won’t mind.”
“Maybe another time…” Munroe looked away.
Kisa hummed.
“Alright, sit here.” She patted one of the lower bunks.
It was neatly made and covered with a colourful patchwork duvet – definitely a private possession. By the pillow was lying a case, about contents of which Munroe didn’t have to ask – everyone knew, that Kisa played a flute.
Munroe moved the duvet aside to avoid accidentally staining it – sometimes dirt clung to clothes without anyone noticing – and sat on the edge of the mattress. Kisa joined him a moment later.
“Let’s start!” she announced in cheerful voice, gathering his hair in both her hands. “You have to take off your necklace, first. I don’t want to pull on it…”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Munroe reached behind his neck to untie the thin leader strap.
“What is it? A pendant?” Kisa looked over his shoulder, curious.
Munroe held the necklace in open hand to show her.
“A ring?”
“Yeah… A ring…”
“Why don’t you wear it on your finger, then?”
Because it feels wrong to wear your engagement ring, when the person you wanted to marry is gone.
“Just because…”
Kisa hummed understandingly again.
Munroe didn’t hurry with washing up. Granted, wetwork room wasn’t a nice place to hang out in, but with Eriche by his side he didn’t mind the stench or humidity. Why Eriche insisted on waiting for him inside, instead of the corridor, though, was beyond his understanding…
…or wasn’t it?
It was one of the very few moments there was only two of them – with how much going on lately, it was hard to find places without other people.
“You done?”
“Yeah.” Munroe smoothed out the clean clothes he had just put on.
It felt good to not be covered in blood.
“Good.” Eriche looked around, checking, if they were really alone. “Well… I have something for you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“You’ll see.” Eriche fished something out of his pocket. “Excuse the fact I won’t kneel, not on this floor, but… Munroe Davy, will you do me an honour and marry me?”
He was holding a ring – a handmade one, bent from some kind of wire – but a ring nevertheless.
“I… Uh…” Munroe stammered, too shocked to speak.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes… Of course, yes!”
Eriche’s face lightened up – his smile could only be described as sunny. He took Munroe’s hand and gently slipped the ring on his finger.
“We’re going to have such beautiful wedding,” he said, encasing Munroe’s hand in both his. “With cake and flowers and music… The wedding bands will be golden… How does it sound?”
“Wonderful.” Munroe returned the smile.
He then leaned in a little. Eriche immediately caught his intent and did the same… Before quickly backing out.
“Why did you-”
“Someone’s coming.” Eriche’s gaze was glued to the door.
Indeed, the steps echoing in the corridor were getting louder…
Louder…
Louder…
And then started to fade.
“That was close…” Eriche mumbled, before looking back at Munroe.
They both erupted into giggles at the same time.
Munroe didn’t know, how long he had spent with Kisa. It was pleasant, though – she carefully braided his hair, while talking about… Actually, everything. About menu plans for the next couple of days. About her favourite recipes. About her quartermates… No, not “mates” – friends, they have known each other for quite a long time and were rotated in together – Ollie and Astra, and how living with them felt like sleepovers she used to have as a kid.
It was easy to relax. Kisa’s voice was soft, her hands gentle. When she finished, Munroe’s hair was done in almost perfect French braid, tied at the end with a pink ribbon.
She told him to keep it.
When Munroe returned to his living quarters, Warwick and Carrie were nowhere to be seen. Mophead was in lying in his bunk, facing the wall, deeply asleep. The blanket had slipped a little, exposing his pale shoulders – he was wearing a sleeveless shirt.
Munroe walked closer to fix it, pulling the blanket up to Mophead’s chin – slowly, quietly, to not wake him up. With his face obscured by the long hair, Mophead looked just like Eriche… He wasn’t Eriche, though.
Eriche preferred the top bunk. Unless he decided to sleep with Munroe.
“Hey, Swan!”
“What?”
“You asleep?”
“Yeah.”
Rustling followed by a soft thump – Eriche had jumped off his bunk.
“What are you doing?” Munroe propped himself on his elbow, watching Eriche sit on the edge of his mattress.
“What does it look like? Can’t a man want to sleep with his fiancé?” Eriche tapped the other on the shoulder. “Move a bit!”
“We’ll get caught…” Munroe whispered.
He still backed a little, almost pressing himself into the wall – the beds were narrow, barely accommodating one person. It didn’t stop Eriche from lying just next to him.
“Nah. You can say, that I was cold and you agreed to warm me up, like a good friend you are.” Eriche tightly embraced Munroe, face in the crook of his neck.
Munroe covered them both with a blanket, before returning the embrace. Eriche was so warm and, with how close they were, Munroe could feel his heartbeat.
He was sure, that his own heart was beating in sync with Eriche’s.
“I love you, my Swan,” Eriche whispered, his breath hot on Munroe’s skin.
Munroe kissed his hair. He could feel Eriche smile.
“I love you, too…”