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“It’s going to seem stupid to you, but I can’t braid my hair and it’s about to give me a nervous breakdown.”
His eyes move from my face to my hair and back.
“It's a part of your ritual before games?”
I nod almost imperceptibly and he makes the same movement back at me more decidedly.
“Alright, get me a hair tie and let’s see what I can do.” He says.
Before I can process his words, he stands and bends over to pick me up, pulling me back until I’m sitting in front of the bed. He lifts one leg over me and sits down on my bed so that I’m nestled between his legs.
The whole thing took less than two seconds.
I turn towards him, confused. “You want to braid my hair?”
“Put up a tutorial or something so I can try to replicate it.”
“You’re serious?” I ask again, still dubious.
“Look, I’m not promising a legendary outcome here or even success at this point, but I’ll do my best.”
I swallow thickly, touched by his effort. “Okay, thank you.”
“Plus, it’s not like you’ll let my hands do anything else to you. If this is the only way I get to touch you, I’ll take it. Now give me a hair tie.” He commands.
I have a couple wrapped around my wrist, a fluffy pink one and a black one. I pull them both off and hand them over my shoulder to him.
Grabbing my phone, I put a tutorial on for him and for a couple of minutes we just sit silently while he works. I hear frustrated groans and mumblings of “the fuck does that mean?” behind me and I can’t help but giggle.
He looks up and makes eye contact with me in the mirror.
“Something funny?”
I stifle my giggle as best I can. “Sorry, you just have such a concentrated look on your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this focused, not even during practice.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I braided my mum’s hair a few times before so I was hoping muscle memory would kick in, but no. Nothing. Zilch. I’m going on instinct alone and honestly I have no idea how you girls do this. I have a million strands of hair in my hands and no clue where I’m supposed to put them. I feel like diffusing a bomb would be easier.” He says, a frown furrowing his brow as he turns back to my hair.
“It’s okay, really. I can–”
“No.”
“No?”
“We’re not going anywhere until I figure this out.” He releases my hair and starts the video again. “And until you tell me what’s really bothering you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him, playing dumb.
“I can tell something’s upsetting you and it’s not just hair related.” He says, smoothly twisting the strands together. He looks up into the mirror, his eyes piercing through me. “Tell me what it is.”
I look away, severing the contact. I’m not sure I want to tell him about my fears and anxieties, not when it seems like those emotions would be foreign to him.
“You’re ready.”
My eyes snap back to meet his in the mirror, my heart stuck in my throat at his words.
“If that’s what you’re concerned about, you’re ready. You’ve put in the hard work and today you finally get to show it off.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like he has absolutely no doubt about what I’m capable of and how I’m going to perform today.
