"What . . . ?" she started as he sat her down. She kept finding herself playing catch-up with this man. This was the quickest realization so far—once he took the elastic tie from her it was quite plain what he intended—but also the most surprising, even more than being tackled minutes before. That fit with everything she expected from him. This was different.
He was so quiet. She wasn't sure what she thought he should say, but that was only part of it, an intent stillness that she felt from him. Why was he doing this? How did he know how to do this? The only times she could remember anyone braiding her hair for her had been times when she was small, and it was a mother- or sister-figure doing it. This didn't feel like those times. He wasn't patronizing her in the slightest, he was just . . . helping.
And he was good at it. It was a little uneven thanks to the angle created by sitting beside each other, but it was a good weave nonetheless: secure, but not so tight as to pull the scalp and be uncomfortable. This was another example of what she'd observed of his handiwork with a bandage before, such unusual dexterity and gentleness from someone so rough around the edges. Forget sarcasm; she really could pick 'em.
When he'd finished, she turned to face him and took his hands in hers, brushing the knuckles of each with a kiss. "Thank you."
(( Post title should really be "This means something . . . but what?" but then it wouldn't be a quote from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. ))
"That's not what I always heard," Suicide said, because honestly, if there was ever a phrase that cried out for an innuendo and an eyebrow raise that was it. And frankly, he remembered a few times... more
This means something. This is important. Neshomeh,Sat Jul 23 12:45
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