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Noah brought the brush through his hair with a quiet, frustrated hiss.
The sound had almost become familiar to Mio, even after only three weeks—like the murmur of Taion's planning under his breath, or the rush of air as Sena moves her hammer, or their quiet hisses when they'd burn their mouths on her soup in the morning. There was a kind of routine to it all, the way that each morning and each night they'd gather around the campfire without fail, and every day Noah's hair would tangle like this.
“Do you… want me to take care of that for you?” Mio asked.
She hasn't offered anything like this to anyone before. Both Sena and Taion kept their hair too short for her to do anything with it, and even if they trusted her with their lives that wasn't enough for them to properly take care of each other. Not like this, at least.
Noah's face softened. “If you're willing to, that'd be great.” He stretched out, passing the brush over to her.
The wood was smoother than Mio expected. Heavier, too—its weight in her palm was almost comforting, though it was nothing like the blades she was used to wielding. She adjusted her grip on it, thumb brushing over the bristles. They were softer than she was used to, as if they'd been designed for comfort more than utility.
Mio sat herself down behind Noah. He straightened out slightly, the slump of his shoulders vanishing as he leaned, almost unconsciously, into her. She put the brush down to one side, then gently took Noah's hair out of its usual ponytail. Before she could doubt herself, doubt Noah's choice to trust her with this everyday, ordinary task, Mio took the brush up again.
Starting at the roots, she pulled the brush through a section of his dark hair, pausing at the quiet hiss of pain he let out. “Too rough?”
As if either of them knew what it was to be gentle. Mio pushed the thought aside at a nod from Noah, carefully pulling the brush out from where it had snared.
“Try working from the bottom up,” Noah suggested, after Mio disentangled the brush. Light trickled through a gap above them, a slant of light cast over his back. “It's a little awkward for me, but… maybe it'll work for you?”
“Alright,” Mio replied quietly, moving the brush through again.
The ends of his hair weren't as tangled as it had been at the roots, to the point that it was easier to settle into a rhythm as she worked. “Is it usually this tangled?” She found herself asking. The very ends had been alright to work through, but as she moved higher, Mio found it harder and harder to work through without the brush getting caught. “Do you have to do this every day?”
Noah waited for her to pause, then nodded. “It's been a lot worse because of the sand, but yeah. This is pretty normal.” He hissed when Mio found another tangle; she apologised softly, then wondered if he'd even heard it. “Ah, could you—”
Wordless, Mio adjusted her grip on the brush. Maybe it was an Ouroboros thing, or maybe it was just them. Still, there was something between the two of them—a gentle, unnamed thing that both awed and terrified her in equal measure.
Nothing more to make of it, Mio told herself. The last of the tangles were gone from Noah's hair, so she handed his brush back to him. “Thanks,” he murmured. Neither of them moved.
Mio's fingers curled and uncurled. It felt strange to not be holding anything, and the weight of Noah's hair in her arms was too little, and too light. She still had the elastic around her wrist, though.
Carefully, so carefully it caught her off guard, Mio pulled the loose strands of hair back until they'd all gathered in one loose fistful. The ponytail she ended up making was higher than she was used to seeing on Noah, and pulled tighter than it usually was, and strands of hair fell in wispy streaks across his forehead, but Mio felt—almost proud, looking at it.
Proof that her hands could create and not just destroy. Proof that she could do more than kill and send off those killed. Something small, yes, but definitive.
Mio would take any definite truth in her vast, uncertain world—anything, no matter how lone, or how small.
Two months' time, and they wouldn't be able to do this anymore. Two months' time, and there would just be Noah. No more interlinking, and no more shared moments—Mio would be gone, then.
Mio felt… she didn't know. Whatever it was, it sloped through her body, loping like the desert volffs. She'd tried to dismiss it. Three weeks was a short time to get accustomed to anything, but part of her recognised it, almost welcomed it.
Like recognising like. An aspar swallowing its own tail.
It was getting dark. Stars had begun to poke out through the sunset, and smoke came up from their fire; nearby, Sena was laughing at one of Eunie's jokes. The smell of grilling fish was pleasant after days of eating nothing but wild rice and lettuce.
Noah was smiling at her. His smile was a gentle thing. Small, but warm, and genuine. Like this, away from the rest of the world, Mio could almost bring herself to forget anything but this moment.
“Thank you,” Noah said again, tucking the brush away into his pack. “I do appreciate it, Mio. You've done a lot for me.”
“It's no trouble,” Mio said. Her hands fell down to her sides, unoccupied. She didn't know what to do without her blades, or her flute, or the bowls she always used for their soup. “Let me know if you need a hand with that again, okay?”
She knew, somehow, that she meant it. Mio could only hope that Noah understood, too.