[ His easy compliance is unique enough to earn a raised eyebrow from her, though she doesn't say anything, simply acknowledging his response with a soft nod.
She pushes herself off the chair then, gathering the scissors from the shelf and snipping a small portion of her own hair to test how sharp they are. The water stays put for now; she knows already that it's not safe for consumption. Though no one had mentioned that it wasn't safe to make contact with (they are presumably going to need some for hygienic purposes eventually), it's not necessary so she leaves it be.
Scissors in hand, she walks over to stand behind Eren, watching with an impartial eye before she reaches out to straighten it, tugging the tangles and the sand out. ]
[Look, he's capable of being Not-A-Brat. Sometimes. Given their particularly unorthodox and uneven relationship, it's rare that they're on the same wavelength when things aren't otherwise...terrible.
And right now...
It is a painfully mundane thing, really. They've done it a dozen times before, after the wall fell. It's practical, necessary. (It's quiet and close, and she's been gone for weeks. They've lost more than they've found, and his heart is hurting for it. He's burned through the bulk of his initial anger at the way Macha had ended, his hopeless and helpless guilt at the fate of the Neraki. It's still there, hanging around his neck, settled on his shoulders. The sand is battering the windows and driving them to shelter and his hair is falling in his eyes and Mikasa is at his back.) Her fingers catch on a knot in his hair, and he sucks a breath in through his teeth, reaches up reflexively to catch her wrist and still her before he can think better of it.
His mouth presses thin, but he doesn't say anything. Just holds on a second or two too long before letting her go. He closes his eyes, head bowed, humming tension slowly sinking out of his shoulders as she gets back to carding her hands through his hair and going through the motions of trimming it.]
[ She lets her hand still when he grabs her wrist, waiting patiently for the sting to subside before resuming her movements with a slight roll of her eyes. He can't see her face, and he probably wouldn't even be able to tell if he could, but right now she's thinking wimp.
But the moment passes. She thinks instead of how much easier it would be if Eren actually brushed his hair, and she didn't have to fiddle with the tangles. Eventually she just abandons them, picking up the scissors so that she can get to the task at hand.
The sound of sand and wind against the window is soon accompanied by the snipping of the scissors. She's not a professional by any means, but she's had enough practice cutting Eren's hair throughout the years that it's familiar. It had never gotten this long as far as she can remember, but the motions are the same.
Her knuckles and the backs of her fingers brush against his nape as she works, not even thinking about the vulnerability of it. This is natural, and there's no suspicion or ill intent between them. (Regardless of whatever the Black Box would like her to imagine.) The circumstances are bizarre, when she thinks about all that he must be holding now that she doesn't know about but. Right now, she's comfortable. ]
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no subject
She pushes herself off the chair then, gathering the scissors from the shelf and snipping a small portion of her own hair to test how sharp they are. The water stays put for now; she knows already that it's not safe for consumption. Though no one had mentioned that it wasn't safe to make contact with (they are presumably going to need some for hygienic purposes eventually), it's not necessary so she leaves it be.
Scissors in hand, she walks over to stand behind Eren, watching with an impartial eye before she reaches out to straighten it, tugging the tangles and the sand out. ]
no subject
And right now...
It is a painfully mundane thing, really. They've done it a dozen times before, after the wall fell. It's practical, necessary. (It's quiet and close, and she's been gone for weeks. They've lost more than they've found, and his heart is hurting for it. He's burned through the bulk of his initial anger at the way Macha had ended, his hopeless and helpless guilt at the fate of the Neraki. It's still there, hanging around his neck, settled on his shoulders. The sand is battering the windows and driving them to shelter and his hair is falling in his eyes and Mikasa is at his back.) Her fingers catch on a knot in his hair, and he sucks a breath in through his teeth, reaches up reflexively to catch her wrist and still her before he can think better of it.
His mouth presses thin, but he doesn't say anything. Just holds on a second or two too long before letting her go. He closes his eyes, head bowed, humming tension slowly sinking out of his shoulders as she gets back to carding her hands through his hair and going through the motions of trimming it.]
no subject
But the moment passes. She thinks instead of how much easier it would be if Eren actually brushed his hair, and she didn't have to fiddle with the tangles. Eventually she just abandons them, picking up the scissors so that she can get to the task at hand.
The sound of sand and wind against the window is soon accompanied by the snipping of the scissors. She's not a professional by any means, but she's had enough practice cutting Eren's hair throughout the years that it's familiar. It had never gotten this long as far as she can remember, but the motions are the same.
Her knuckles and the backs of her fingers brush against his nape as she works, not even thinking about the vulnerability of it. This is natural, and there's no suspicion or ill intent between them. (Regardless of whatever the Black Box would like her to imagine.) The circumstances are bizarre, when she thinks about all that he must be holding now that she doesn't know about but. Right now, she's comfortable. ]