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Luckily, I catch it one-handed.

“What the hell?”

“It’s cold.”

Pressing my lips together, I sigh through my nose. This is gonna hold me up.

As evenly as I can, I ask, “What temperature does it need to be?”

“As hot as you can get it.”

“That’ll burn you.”

“Hot!” she yells at my back.

By the time I’m done soaking it in warm water, Kota’s eyes are closed.

“Kota?” I whisper.

They open and she takes the rag.

“It’s not hot.”

“It’s as hot as I’m gonna let you handle right now.”

Draping it over her face, she lets her hands fall to the mattress, then she…

Does nothing.

“Kota?”

This time she doesn’t respond. At all.

When I remove the rag from her face, she’s smiling. I can’t help but smile back at her. I just add a headshake, too. Fucking adorable. Infuriating, but adorable.

“All right.” Folding the damp rag in half, I settle onto the bed beside her. “At least tell me what I’m doing.”

“Get it all,” is her only advice.

One swipe across her cheek and she’s faux-screaming again.

“You said to get—”

“Not like that. With circles.”

“You could’ve just fucking told me,” I grumble as I lean over her to get a better look.

Right before I start again, she stops me by grabbing my wrist. “Is that the short-hair side?”

I check both sides of the rag before admitting, “I don’t know.”

“Short-hair side first, long-hair side second.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what that means.” I keep searching the fucking fibers, even pulling at them. “They look the same.”

Eyes closed, Kota whispers, “Short, then long,” being absolutely no help whatsoever.

All I can do is groan. There is no difference in “hair” length. What the fuck even is hair on a rag?