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Calens swung her feet giddily as you sectioned off portions of her chestnut-hued hair. She was doing decently well at keeping most of her body still. The girl’d quickly learned not to move her head around the first time you tried this. It’d ended with some accidentally harsh tugs and a very upset Calens. She didn’t seem fazed about that anymore, though, and if she was, she was very good at hiding it. You supposed it was the flexibility of youth.
“I’m gonna look just like Adaman,” Calens said proudly. If the girl looked up to one person, that would be the leader of the Diamond Clan. It was only natural, the two were practically siblings—familial bonds outside of birth families were somewhat commonplace in the clan, though you’d never experienced it yourself—but it went beyond that. Little Calens practically adored the man like he was the most impressive person in the entire world. Which, to her limited perception, was probably accurate.
You sighed. “Is that what this is about?” you asked her.
“Mhm!” she replied, “You braid his hair ‘n he looks really pretty, so if you do mine I’ll look like him.”
Well, that would explain why Calens was so hellbent on having you braid her hair. She’d started asking you to do it a few months ago during the late spring season, though you’d assumed it was because of the humid heat the rains had brought on. You had told her that her hair was a bit too short at the time (it was), but since then, it had grown some—a fact you knew a little too well, since the girl’d insisted on you measuring it every few weeks since your initial refusal. You hadn’t really considered why she was so focused on having you braid her hair specifically. Children just did that sometimes, right? You didn’t have any, yourself, nor any younger siblings of your own, but you looked after the clan’s youngsters enough to get a good grasp as to how their minds operated. It wasn’t something to worry about.
Hearing that Calens was trying to mimic Adaman made you reconsider. It wasn’t surprising in the slightest, but it made you wonder what exactly that leader of yours was telling the girl. You braided his hair occasionally, yes, but why would he mention that to her, specifically?
“Pretty, huh?” you mused, “I’m flattered, but anybody could’ve done this for you, Calens.”
The girl shook her head, and you slackened your grip on her hair to avoid any uncomfortable tension as she moved. “No,” she replied, “he said you were better at this than everyone else.”
You made a face at that, furrowing your brow and biting at your lip pensively. You could very easily imagine Adaman saying something like that. He had a habit of thoughtlessly boasting about the people he was close to, and while it felt nice to know that he considered your braiding skills good enough to praise them to Calens, you also felt some degree of embarrassment. Adaman had you wholly wrapped around his finger, and while your friendship with him was widely known about by your fellow clansfolk, they really did not need to know just how much you were willing to do for the man. Your pride demanded that much.
You cleared your throat as you began to wind Calens’ strands of hair together. One over the other, and then the next, and so on and so forth. Braiding hair came naturally to you after having consistent practice every summer, though you still took care not to tug too hard. Calens’ scalp was sensitive, and you wanted to save her from any pain that you could.
“I’ll have to thank him later,” you eventually say, expression hardening as you feel your cheeks heat up just the slightest bit. You really needed to have a talk with Adaman about how he chose to word things. You gnawed at some of the skin of your lip as part of you fought to ask Calens to elaborate. You briefly winced at the feeling of your teeth scraping against the angry flesh of your mouth. Almighty Sinnoh, these topics always made you embarrassed, why did you keep bringing them up? “Does he talk about me often?”
Calens hummed to herself as she considered your question. This time, she kept her head still as she replied, “Sometimes.”
Well. That was frustratingly vague, wasn’t it. Reluctantly, you let that strain of thought go, at least for now. That same stubborn part of you refused to forget it entirely.
“Is this comfortable?” you asked her, diverting the conversation away from the uncomfortable realm of how Adaman talked about you when you weren’t around. So far, you had managed to get Calens’ hair into about half a braid. There was still work to be done, but you wanted to know if you were plaiting the girl’s tresses too tightly or if she was getting bored. She replied with a little ‘mm-hmm’ before she began to animatedly (as animatedly as one could be while trying to keep their body from the shoulders up immobile) tell you about how her education and basic training had been going. The children of the Diamond Clan were all taught the key teachings of almighty Sinnoh, how to stay as safe as possible in the admittedly quite perilous region they lived in, how to read, how to write, the works. You knew that all already—you were a child once, too—but it was endearing to hear it all over again from a fresh perspective. It was interesting to learn about how much Calens liked her lessons out in the field, as well as how she wanted to do that sort of thing once she got older. You imagined that Calens would take on a scout’s role, or something similar to it, in the future. You thought that the girl would enjoy it, and you assumed with a hint of pride that she would be good at it, too.
Carefully, you finished the braid, and kept it in place by tying a small strip of dark blue fabric around the end of the plait. You patted Calens’ head affectionately. “Alright,” you said, “should be done, now.”
The girl grinned excitedly, and immediately jumped up from her seat after you gave her the okay to move around again. She reached behind her head to feel at the new braid, and her mouth split into an even bigger smile, full of teeth. You wondered if all that smiling was going to make Calens’ face hurt.
“Thank you,” she squealed, “thank you thank you thank you!” The girl turned around and wrapped her arms around the highest spot she could reach (your upper stomach), and, still giggling and grinning like mad, pressed her face against you. A small smile wormed its way across your lips.
“It’s no problem, Calens,” you replied, patting the girl’s back a few awkward times. “It’s nice to have someone else to practice on, anyway.”
She giggled into your tunic, and then let go of you and bolted away in the opposite direction. You stood there for a second, confused, but you eventually shook your head and squinted at what exactly the girl was running at. She clung excitedly to a particular man, back from a patrol across the main rice fields of the mirelands, who was boisterously chuckling along with her as she excitedly showed him her brand-new hairstyle.
You didn’t even have to look to know it was Adaman. You had his laugh memorized, especially the loud, welcoming one he used around the clan children. He liked to appear as approachable to them as possible; they were his responsibility as much as everybody else, and he didn’t see any use in trying to look more serious than he actually was. That was what you had learned from him over the years of knowing him, at least.
You wondered hesitantly if you should approach the two. You were happy to see your leader, of course, but you didn’t want to intrude on his pleasant interaction with his little sister. You absolutely hated causing people unnecessary irritation, both because you genuinely just wanted your clansfolk to be content, and because you could never suppress that twitchy feeling that made you want to shrink down as small as possible and not bother anybody. You were well aware of how unhealthy that feeling was, but it never went away. You’d learned to live with it the best you could.
Calens eventually pointed at you, and Adaman met your eyes from across the settlement. He said something to the girl before sending you a pleasant smile. The two conversed for a few more short moments, before they were both striding over to your spot by the large stone in the center of camp.
He greeted you by name, along with an affectionate nudge of your arm with his elbow. “Hey, you.”
“Welcome back,” you replied, voice slightly, frustratingly squeaky for whatever reason. You hoped to Sinnoh that he didn’t notice. “How was your walk? Any of the fields burned down without us noticing?”
He huffed out a small laugh, and replied, “Everything was fine. It was almost a waste of time, really.” Adaman’s tone was slightly petulant. “But the stalks looked close to harvest, so I guess that it was worth it.”
“You don’t sound very sure,” you teased. You were already falling into the familiar manner of most conversations between you and Adaman, which was made mostly of minor banter.
“I’m not,” he complained, “I could’ve been doing at least five other more important things.” Adaman crossed his arms, and, if you didn’t know better than to mention it, his mouth was beginning to form a sort of pout. “I could’ve sent someone else to check on them, really. Should’ve, even.”
You rolled your eyes. You knew that Adaman wasn’t really that upset—if he was, he’d be much less whiny and much more stern—and was probably just joking around with you.
“You’ll be alright,” you told him, snorting, “you’ve plenty of time ahead of you.”
“Time wasted is lost,” he insisted, “which is why I prefer to use mine for tasks that are actually useful and don’t have me walking around in mud for half of the day.” An amused grin overtook your face. Adaman frowned at you once he noticed. “I’m serious! My boots are caked in the stuff!”
“So’s your trouser bottoms,” Calens piped up helpfully. The man groaned at her.
“Thank you, Calens,” he sighed, “you’re very observant.” You found the way that his tone took on a gentler feel as he spoke to her was almost sweet. The faux look of exasperation on his face ruined it, though.
Calens nodded solemnly. “I am,” she affirmed, “I notice everything.”
Adaman let out a soft, amused sort of exhale from his nose, and affectionately rested his hand on the girl’s head, lightly messing with her bangs and causing a few stray hairs to slip from her braid. Luckily, Calens didn’t seem to notice since she was so delighted by his praise. Had she known that he was ruining the hairstyle she’d stubbornly pestered you to give her for months, she wouldn’t be as placid and cheerful.
Adaman’s gaze shifted to yours again. “Thanks for looking after Calens,” he told you, losing most of his pretend indignancy. “I know that she can be a little rowdy sometimes.” You both pointedly ignored the girl’s quiet, annoyed ‘hey!’ at that comment. You could feel your face heat up at his gratitude. Almighty Sinnoh, you were worse than Calens, hanging onto your leader’s every word the way you did. Of course he was thankful that you took care of his little sister while he was away. Her parents were always too busy during the day, Mai was out in the Obsidian Fieldlands, and Adaman had his own responsibilities—he’d be happy with anyone who took care of the girl. You weren’t special just because he spoke to you kindly.
You exhaled sharply. “You’re welcome,” you forced out, fingers fiddling with one of the pouches on your belt. “I don’t mind. Calens is a good kid.”
“I am!” she piped up, smugly, only to have her hair ruffled by Adaman again teasingly.
He snickered, “Sure you are.”
“She is,” you insisted, nudging him to get him to stop messing with the girl. “She was very well-behaved today. Barely even moved her head while I did her hair.”
Adaman raised his brow curiously. “I knew that you two did something with her hair,” he started, “but you actually got her to sit still?”
“She got herself to sit still, really,” you replied, “she really wanted to, um…” You bit down on that sentence as soon as it escaped from your throat. Adaman didn’t need to know that Calens thought your handiwork in his hair was aesthetically appealing or even all that impressive. You would sound like an insolent braggart or something. There was no way in any part of time’s infinite reach that you wanted your leader to see you that way.
Unfortunately for you, Calens puffed up her chest and made a grin that shone full of teeth. “I look like you now, Adaman!” she declared, placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at her brother. “They made me real pretty.”
The Diamond Clan’s leader nodded wisely as you felt your face go flush with color. You began gnawing at your bottom lip’s skin again. “That’s right,” Adaman said smoothly, “they’re very good at working with hair. Gentle hands, I tell you.”
“My hands aren’t particularly gentle,” you retorted, mentally screaming at your face to return to its original color. “I just know not to tug on someone’s scalp.”
Adaman shook his head. “Mmm…no, they’re gentle,” he said, quickly shifting into a teasing manner. He grabbed one of your hands and made a show of rubbing his fingers along the lines of your palm. “Yep. As I suspected. Soft as silk.” You snatched your hand away and held it close to your chest to stop him from grabbing it again, which earned giggles from Calens and a little grin from Adaman. The bright red blush on your face definitely wasn’t going away any time soon. Damn it.
“Uh-huh, I bet they are,” you murmured reedily, the sarcasm in your voice weakly giving way to the awful way you croaked out your response.
Adaman’s smile widened, and he playfully cuffed his hand over your shoulder. “C’mon, you know I’m just teasing,” he said, though his smug face didn’t make him look any more apologetic. He directed his next words to Calens. “Really, they are very skilled with weaving and the like,” he added, telling the girl that she should ask you to teach her kumihimo ‘or something.’ It was painfully obvious that he was doing his blatantly-bragging-about-his-friends thing. You knew that he would, eventually. The man was as open as a book most days.
“Thank you,” you muttered, “I’m not that good at it, though, I just know how it’s done.” Adaman frowned in response, surprisingly deciding to keep quiet. It was not often when he didn’t share his opinion on something. Your leader was always one of the most outspoken people in the room, but you supposed that many members of the Diamond Clan had somewhat similar dispositions. Respecting Sinnoh’s great gift of time meant using it as efficiently as possible; stepping around opinionated topics and using flowery language to avoid offending another was, honestly, quite a waste.
“Mm…maybe,” Calens said, tapping her finger to her chin to make a big show of just how deeply she was thinking. “Sounds fun, but I still gotta practice out in the field. Maybe sometime!” You were slightly impressed by how well the girl managed to think ahead. You briefly wondered why you felt so proud of her. She wasn’t related to you by any means, after all, but you supposed that her relationship with Adaman was enough to make you view her as something to take pride in. You valued a lot of the things he held dear, anyways, so he’d probably been inadvertently influencing you. The thought made you feel a little warmer.
“That’s fine,” you replied, “let me know if you’re ever interested in learning.” A slightly awkward silence fell over the group of three after you left the offer hanging in the air. Adaman, never one to allow things to go stagnant for too long, ruffled Calens’ hair again.
“You should give me a braid, too,” he told you, plastering on a charming smile. “It’s only fair. You can’t just work your magic on Calens.”
You huffed at him, eyes still narrowed as your skin was still tinged red. “You’re lucky that I like you,” you grumbled.
The faint roughness of Adaman’s hair was very well acquainted with your deft fingers. He kept himself well-groomed, for the most part—there were some longer sections near the base of his neck that would soon require the attention of Arezu’s clippers—but no amount of attention would ever prevent the natural elements from interfering. Adaman spent much of his time outdoors, which had, through a mixture of sweat, sunlight, and wind, caused his hair to always be a little scratchy whenever you worked with it. It was soft immediately after cleaning, you knew, but your leader never bathed just for the sake of his hair. He took pride in his appearance, sure, but he was far too busy to constantly pay attention to something so minor. You were used to it by now.
You were sitting on the bed in your tent, and, leaning against your dangling legs, was Adaman. He was sitting on the tent’s wooden floor, tapping the edge of a graphite-tipped stylus against a pad of parchment. Adaman, like Calens, was absolutely horrible about sitting still. Unlike Calens, his restlessness came from the need to get things done, instead of youthful, boundless energy. He could never stand doing nothing when he could be attending to any of the various things that needed tending, and for someone with his amount of responsibilities, that list was long. He’d quickly taken to working on paperwork after your first session such as this one, which was primarily planning for large-scale projects or diplomatic meetings. Currently, judging from his various mutterings and scratchy handwriting, he was brainstorming ways to fix some of the log bridges around the Golden Lowlands. That year’s summer had featured minor flooding, which the bridges could usually withstand, but they’d been getting on in years, and crumbled. They were currently replaced with temporary structures hastily tied together, but Adaman was trying to figure out ways to make them more permanent. This was easier said than done due to the state of the mireland’s soil, which was prone to shifting during the changes in moisture each season brought.
You ran your hand through his azure and olive tresses, mostly to be sure that there weren’t any pesky tangles before you began to weave the braids into his hair. There was absolutely no other reason for this behavior. None whatsoever. To think otherwise would be completely unfounded. Your fingers didn’t catch on anything, thankfully, though you continued to card them through his hair to make sure it was neat enough. Adaman had forgone his usual messy ponytail after returning to the Diamond Settlement, so his full head of hair was free to cascade against his shoulders. You had the small blue piece of fabric he used to keep it in place wound around one of your wrists, tied in a neat knot to keep it from falling off, for later use. It was his idea to keep it on hand the first time the two of you had one of these sessions, and it’d been a habit ever since. You removed your hands from the depths of his hair and began to separate it into several even sections. You didn’t gather all of his hair into the sections—there was that particular strand that always hung in his face that you were particularly fond of, as well as a few other shorter bits that wouldn’t have been able to make it into the braid, anyway. You took full advantage of Adaman’s hair, which was longer than that of his younger sister’s, and allowed yourself to have more portions to work with. There would be two braids instead of the usual one, but you decided to let yourself complicate his hair for the sake of your own entertainment. Adaman wasn’t in an impatient mood, anyway, so you’d easily be able to get away with extending the time it took to braid his hair.
He spoke up a little while after you began crossing the parts of the first braid. “Why did you downplay yourself like that earlier?” your leader asked, stilling his hands completely as he kept his eyes firmly on his paper.
“What do you mean?” you replied, pressing your lips together in a thin line. Your fingers diligently kept at their task, but they partially slowed as you listened to his words.
“Earlier, while we were talking with Calens. You kept minimizing your skills whenever I mentioned them,” Adaman accused. “It bothered me.”
Your tongue traced the backs of your teeth. “I did nothing of the sort,” you quietly said. Adaman huffed skeptically and muttered your name in a slightly warning tone.
“Don’t lie to me,” he chastised. “You kept talking like you were barely worth the attention.” The planes of your back tensed. He was right. That was how you’d been speaking, but it was true. You weren’t something to idolize or praise or acknowledge too closely. All you were was an average person who happened to be friends with people who were actually special.
“I didn’t want Calens to think I was a master at braiding hair of all things,” you retorted. “I’m not even that good at it.”
You could actually feel Adaman straighten his posture at that. “You’re great at it,” he said defensively. You raised a brow, though you knew he wouldn’t be able to see it from his current position turned away from you.
“You’re biased,” you told him, beginning to mirror his frustration in your own voice. You couldn’t stop yourself from adding, “you think that I’m great at a lot of things I’m only decent at.”
“Only decent?” Adaman questioned bitterly. “Give yourself more credit. You are great at a lot of things.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know you don’t really mean that,” you said. You were able to hear the way each response you gave was tarter than the last, but you didn’t make any moves to steer away from the growing confrontationality of the conversation. As much as you disliked fighting with Adaman, once you got started, it was hard to stop.
“Of course I mean it,” he scoffed, “I don’t say things for no reason.”
You were about halfway done with the first braid when you replied, “I know.”
“Then you should really start believing me,” he continued, “you are impressive in your own right. I don’t know why you keep denying it.”
Your chest began to feel a little tighter. You were well aware of your mind’s occasional illogicalities, but you weren’t able to separate them from your usual thought process no matter what you tried. You’d never attempted to examine the reasons behind them too closely out of fear of what you would discover, and the thought of letting Adaman pick your head apart wasn’t a pleasant one. Your mind raced with possibilities. What if he learned that you were right about yourself? What if he thought that you had too much baggage or emotional weight and decided to drop you entirely? What if he learned things about you that you didn’t know yourself?
What if he didn’t find anything at all?
“I don’t know either,” you admitted, reluctantly, “not entirely.”
He leaned back on his hands and tilted his head up so that he could look at you from behind. You huffed a bit—he’d just completely ruined the section that you were working on. Adaman’s face sported a faint frown and furrowed brows. “Could you try to explain?” he prodded.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to acknowledge my own accomplishments seriously,” you confessed, refusing to meet his eyes. Why was Adaman so good at dragging answers out of you? “Like, no matter what I do, I could be doing it better. I’m not talented enough to be notable and I’m not skilled enough for anybody to deem me as more than just average.”
“You are, though,” Adaman insisted with a firm gentleness, “I think you are.”
You shook your head. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t believe you, or anybody else, for that matter,” you said, tasting a suspiciously ferrous flavor on your lips as you sucked them into your mouth apprehensively. “I can’t. I know that I should be able to, because you really aren’t the type to lie, but I can’t.” Your leader’s face shifted a few times, becoming more pinched, then softer, before finally landing on an expression you didn’t often see on him. He looked…bashful, almost.
“I can’t say that I understand entirely,” he told you, “but I can grasp what you’re getting at.” Adaman’s fingers had begun fiddling with the opposite hand’s bandage wrappings absentmindedly. “Sometimes, I feel like the clan’d be better off with someone else as leader.”
Your gaze found his again as you stared at him incredulously. “Seriously?” you asked. Adaman always seemed so confident and collected. He always knew what to do, and you’d hardly ever seen him struggle since he took on the mantle of leadership.
“Yeah,” he admitted. His deep brown eyes remained stuck on yours, though you could tell that he wanted to look away, perhaps out of shame or something else that mirrored what you felt in the moment. “I mean, I can’t play the Celestica flute for the life of me, I’m still not very experienced, I’ve never been able to commune with almighty Sinnoh…”
“None of that matters,” you protested, “you’re an amazing leader! I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you told me to.”
At that, Adaman’s mouth softened into a smile, and he snorted through his nose. “I think we’ve got similar problems,” he said, “neither of us can completely trust in the good things we think of each other.”
Your chest hurt at that thought. Adaman was a wonderful person. He didn’t deserve to doubt himself or think that he wasn’t doing a good job at something he was clearly made for. The idea that he was just as insecure as you were was deeply uncomfortable, and in the moment, you desperately wanted to reassure him and make him understand just how accomplished he was—
Oh.
That’s probably exactly what he was thinking about you. Huh. Well, that was beginning to bring things into perspective. It also made you feel slightly guilty for putting him through this sort of distress.
“I don’t really like…all this,” you eventually said, after realizing that you’d been silently staring at him for a good few moments. “You’re lovely. You should know that.”
Adaman chuckled under his breath bittersweetly. “I do know that,” he replied, “but sometimes it’s hard to believe I deserve being called something so genuine.” You didn’t need any elaboration to understand what he meant. You’d felt that grimy fog of doubt hanging over you ever since you were rather young.
“…I want you to believe it,” you murmured, deeply aware of how hypocritical you were being. Your hand raked through his hair once more, smoothing out the abandoned remnants of the braid that was supposed to be there. It was a comfort to you, and, judging by the way his eyes lidded slightly at the action, Adaman didn’t seem to mind it, either.
“I’ll try if you try,” he offered, “I don’t particularly like it when you put yourself down, you know.”
Your eyebrows scrunched together as you smiled despite yourself. “That’s going to be difficult,” you said wearily, “I’m not sure if I can overcome years of that sort of thinking.”
“I think that you can,” Adaman declared with complete certainty. “It’ll just take some work. You’re more than capable.” Your smile softened, and the space behind your face bloomed with a pleasant, mild warmth.
“Alright,” you murmured, “I can try. No guarantees, though.” Adaman chuckled quietly at you, his shoulders slowly bobbing up and down from the movement. You only caught a few glimpses of his face, caught up in a wide grin alongside his laughter, due to your position above him. “You promise to try, too, right?” you goaded as you lightly tugged on that noodle-like stray hair to force him to meet your eyes completely. You needed to ensure that he’d be truthful with you. The idea of Adaman ever lying about something so important was preposterous, but the nagging feeling (which you were genuinely trying to ignore) didn’t let you abandon the possibility. He stopped laughing almost immediately, and slowly blinked at you.
“I will,” he vowed, surprisingly solemn for the amount of amusement he’d just exhibited. “You have my word.” His expression was one of the most serious you’d ever seen on him. It was a little unnerving, actually.
“Good,” you mumbled, finally relaxing the muscles in your back. You absentmindedly resumed your earlier task, though splitting his mane of hair into manageable parts was difficult while his neck was craned up to look at you. You began the process anyway. “Guess we’ll be holding each other accountable, then.”
“That’s right,” Adaman said, smugly, “you don’t get to talk so horribly about yourself anymore. Or else you’ll face my wrath.”
You pushed his head down with little resistance so that your hands had better access to the back of his scalp. “Oh no, how terrifying,” you chortled, “you’ll do what, have Leafeon sit on me?”
Adaman hummed in thought as you finally began to braid his hair back properly. “No,” he considered, “I’d probably throw you into Lake Valor.”
You laughed at that, “What, with your twig arms?” It was a bit of a shock to you how easy you were able to move on from the conversation’s heavier topic matter. Adaman’s natural charisma was no surprise, but one would think that he would be more serious. Maybe he would’ve been in any other situation, you thought, but he seemed to know that you needed to return to light banter before you started stewing and needed to be scolded for stewing.
“I’ll have you know that these ‘twig arms’ are actually some of the strongest our clan has ever seen,” Adaman boasted indignantly, obediently keeping his head still as you continued working on his hair. “I hear that they managed to lift two whole Hippopotas at once.”
“You heard? They’re your arms, dummy,” you playfully retorted. All Adaman had to give in response to that was more laughter.
The discussion carried long into the evening, even after you’d finished the man’s twin braids. It was a little odd for Adaman to stay in one place for so long doing only one thing, but you hoped vainly that he’d decided that he was comfortable enough with you to stay. That he liked you enough to stay. For once, you ignored the whispers in the back of your head telling you otherwise.