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Furina has been 'fixing' her hair for nearly an hour, now; they'd sat beside her, then beckoned her to turn so they could reach her hair. Keeping her torso twisted in a slightly uncomfortable manner, waiting as Furina does whatever they please—the stench of stolen divinity so close to her, just another test of her patience in the Hydro Archon's employ.
Furina is not unskilled, she'll acknowledge. They seem endlessly fascinated with her hair—with various aspects of her appearance in general. Her patience with their antics waxes and wanes; occasionally it's amusing, often strangely helpful in navigating the strange world of Fontainian—human—fashion norms, but most of the time she suspects Furina is simply indulging themself at her expense.
For instance: they currently appear to be playing with her hair.
A sudden sharp tug, and Neuvillette grits her teeth—barely suppressing the instinct to tear herself away, bare her teeth in warning. Instead she exhales, slow, calm, and turns her head with a slight wince. Prepares to coldly ask Furina what they're doing.
The reprimand dies on her tongue.
Furina's eyes have slipped shut. One hand is still wrapped around part of Neuvillette's hair, fingers tangled in the strands. Their knees are pulled up to their chest, their body slumped against the backrest and curled up into themself, covering the vital organs—like a small creature trying to make itself unobtrusive. The rise and fall of their chest is subtle, slow even breaths that mark deep sleep.
They look so... small. Not so imposing nor arrogant nor concerned with appearances. Their expression relaxed. Almost peaceful, she thinks. Unguarded.
... That position will strain their neck when they wake. Neuvillette starts to reach for a pillow, is reminded of Furina's unyielding grip on her hair. She shifts, turning so that she's at least no longer twisted, and Furina's head slumps against her shoulder. A warm weight, yet so—light.
There's no way to lean over without first disentangling their grip on her hair. Neuvillette sighs. She'll simply have to be careful.
Her fingers have barely touched their wrist when they jolt, eyes wide open—terrified—and shove themself away from her, scrambling back against the other end of the couch.
For a moment the two of them simply stare at each other.
"... Neuvillette!" Furina says, bright and strained, white-knuckling the edge of the couch. "What are you doing?"
"I was merely trying to place a pillow under your head so you could be more comfortable."
"Oh." Furina's eyes dart to where their sleeing form had left a slight imprint on the cushions. "Why, you should have just woken me up."
"I did not wish to disturb you. It seemed like you needed the rest."
The flash of dull white teeth. "How bold of you to assume what the Hydro Archon needs, hm?"
Neuvillette stares flatly at them. They dust themself off as they stand, and hastily excuse themself with a "Well, I've tarried here too long—I do have other matters to attend to, so I'll see you tomorrow—!" and then they're out the door in a blink.
(Furina never offers to 'fix' her hair again after that; one less annoyance to put up with, at least, and Neuvillette tries to put the image of Furina asleep and at peace out of her mind.)