[ He glowers for only a moment more before his hand flies to his head, smoothing over his curls in vain insecurity, feeling for tangles and cowlicks. ]
Does— [ Does it need badly to be brushed? he almost asks. Then— no, of course it doesn't. He spends every morning meticulously combing and styling it by touch alone, a skill honed over centuries with nothing else to do. He bursts out in genuinely amused laughter then, the sound more silvery and melodic than his usual scornful peals. ]
Oh, you ridiculous thing.
[ He lowers his hand, resting his chin in it as he peers across the table with a sly smile. ]
What a waste of a win. If you wanted to do that, you only had to ask. [ A split-second pause before he thinks to add, ] And to call me pretty while you do it.
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Does— [ Does it need badly to be brushed? he almost asks. Then— no, of course it doesn't. He spends every morning meticulously combing and styling it by touch alone, a skill honed over centuries with nothing else to do. He bursts out in genuinely amused laughter then, the sound more silvery and melodic than his usual scornful peals. ]
Oh, you ridiculous thing.
[ He lowers his hand, resting his chin in it as he peers across the table with a sly smile. ]
What a waste of a win. If you wanted to do that, you only had to ask. [ A split-second pause before he thinks to add, ] And to call me pretty while you do it.