aka “girl talk” aka “haru’s good with his hands” aka “all the girls are jealous of this hairstyle but i’ll never tell them that i can’t do it”

OR

“My Best Friend has the Softest Hair Ever”

dedicated to my wonderful other me ceejles who drew me this fantastic thing (seriously you didn’t have to i was so flattered girl i just like sharing ideas with you)

I hope you like what I wrote~

“If you keep squirming, I’m going to mess up,” Haru’s stern on this. He doesn’t know how he continues to get roped into this, and he swears that this time will be the last time–

Makoto flutters her lashes and pouts, looking apologetic and, damn it, Haru knows it won’t be the last time he does this for her. “Haru-chan, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me,” she’s gentle with her words, knowing he’s not really mad at her, just mad at himself for always, always giving in.

“It’s fine, just stop moving,” he mutters, focused. She settles back into her stool, which happens to be right between Haru’s legs.

Not that he strategically placed it there.

“Haru-chan is the best at doing my hair,” she sing songs, and Haru just hums, ignoring the swell of pride in his chest as he makes quick work of her thick, wavy brown locks, twisting them into braids and wrapping them around her head. He leaves some locks of hair out of the braids so they fall around her face in gentle waves, curling them a bit with the curling iron, and fixing her bangs.

“Look,” he holds up the mirror for her, and she takes it with both her hands. He sees the way her eyes widen and he hastily fixes the vanity in his washroom.

“It looks amazing, Haru-chan!” she’s beaming at him in the way he can’t help but love, showing her dimples and eyes crinkling at the corners. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” he says in return, not looking up, trying to hide the small smile on his face at how happy she is, but he knows that she can tell, anyway.

She goes to fix her uniform as they get ready for school, walking side by side in the way that made people talk and whisper about them, but they’d been like that for as long as they could remember. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to them.

“The girls in class always ask me how I do my hair,” she says to Haru as they walk together, Haru between Makoto and the beach, between Makoto and the street. “I just say that my best friend does it, and they always ask if they can get her to give tips. They don’t know it’s Haru-chan.”

Haru keeps his face carefully blank. “You could say your boyfriend did it,” his voice is barely a whisper, barely a mumble, but the pause in Makoto’s step let’s Haru know she’s heard all the same.

“Okay,” she replies, and then it’s Haru’s turn to stumble in his walking, eyes widening slightly and he turns to look at her. She continues to walk next to him, eyes trained ahead of her, but she’s smiling, dreamlike, and his smile soon follows.

They walk side by side as usual, as they always had when they were kids. Except this time… this time, their fingers thread together. Like they’d been like that for as long as they could remember. And it wasn’t out of the ordinary.