[It's merely coincidence that he ends up near Emily's apartment. He hasn't held vigil there for a long time, not after he--they--attacked her, but he's making his way back from the store when the ribbon holding his braid in breaks.
Normally, he'd wait, shove it back, but...Bi'an hums in the back of his mind, even with the sips of the medicine he's been drinking. He...doesn't want to silence it completely.
So he takes a seat under an overhang, freeing it and starting to comb his hair out with his fingers. His braid is a mess, really--He's never been one to maintain it much. When he was alone, it was enough to keep it out of his eyes. When they were together, Bi'an would take the task upon himself with an almost greedy eagerness, and Wujiu would let him. In the Manor, they'd take turns.
His hands are meant for fighting, repairing umbrellas, mending slippers. Hair braiding isn't quite his forte.]
[he's not the one she expects to find where she does, on the staircase leading up to her apartment. though they spoke, and she assumed things were fine again based on that, he hadn't been hovering there. it made sense - the items were gone, and there was no reason to stay - but it was a little strange. she'd grown used to him being there, and then he was not.
except he looks somewhat out of sorts, and it's why she stops to analyze the situation.]
...Is everything alright, Mr. Fan?
[his hair's a mess, but certainly he could have waited until he got to his own apartment...?]
[Long fingers force the last of his braid out, before he sets to combing them with his fingers. He normally would wait, but he's an impulsive creature, and with everything that's happened he's on edge. The hair falling against his jaw and neck had set him on edge in a strange way.
He doesn't give much of a response other than his initial one. He's kind of focused on this.]
[somehow, that answer doesn't surprise her. looking at him for a second more, she ends up sighing. she'd be well within her rights to tell him good luck and keep moving on, but it's Hibiki who urges her on. it's to your benefit to try one more time.]
I have a comb. You may as well come in, since we're close enough already to my place.
[originally, she would have never allowed it, but with her injuries, there had been no choice. and nothing had happened then - which meant that perhaps, she could open her door yet again. it'll be exactly as he remembers it when they step inside, and she drops the small bundle of books in her arms on the center table.]
[He's actually surprised that she'd even let him come with, but he follows along obediently enough, though he hangs back once she enters. He looks a little uncomfortable--it's not remorse so much as the thought of losing control again, especially when he hears the whispers in the back of his mind still.]
[she gives a calmer smile over her shoulder, trying to soothe as she crosses to go retrieve what one needs to make a proper braid. a comb and a strip of cloth - yes, there were elastics, but sometimes the older ways were better.]
[He takes another step in, but he simply waits, fingers interlaced on his umbrella (protective, rather than holding it as a weapon). He makes no move to sit down on the couch, looking, for all the world, like some horrific scarecrow decoration.]
[looking at him when she comes back, she then sets the items on the low table, taking a seat herself on one of the pillows she has near it. then, slowly looking up to him:]
You're acting as if I'm going to throw you out any second, and I'm not. What happened between us happened. I don't hold you at fault for something that occurred when you weren't in your right mind.
[He still doesn't sit down, instead reaching down to take the comb. His conscience, his self-assurance, his devotion to Bi'an...if he was there, really there, he'd do it all over again.
He starts to yank it through the long, striped fall of his hair without even blinking an eye, his twitching eyebrow more of a reflex than a conscious sign of pain.]
[but with the way he's tugging on his hair, he's going to give himself new ones. she can't stop herself from sighing, extending her hand back to him - the sort of sigh that says someone's seen enough, and they're intervening.]
...Please sit, Mr. Fan.
[what she's offering should be clear enough from her expression.]
[He tugs harder as a surprised reflex, and then winces as the comb rips particularly hard through a knot. He can do this himself (though he dislikes it). Really, only his father and Xie Bi'an have ever combed his hair, and that was long long ago. Why would she want to?]
If you say so. But you'll rip your hair out if you can't try being gentler.
[it's simple in her eyes - he has a problem she can help with. but if he doesn't want it, she won't press, only yield the comb and ribbon and hope he somehow sorts it out.]
[He gives it one more tug, two, but...his hair really is a mess. ...Bi'an had always liked his own hair neat and straight, combed and immaculate. He'd liked Wujiu's hair neat too, hadn't he, always gently berating him.
He usually never let it get this bad. It had been easier for Wujiu to work the little tangles out of their shared black and white whenever Bi'an hadn't been feeling well, the gloom emanating from the umbrella. This...he can't have it this way.
He swallows, sighs in defeat, and offers the comb, before plopping down on the floor with his back to her. The hair pools on the floor, and even sitting he towers above her, slouching forward gloomily.]
[turning so she can be slightly more comfortable, she gauges the work ahead of her as she takes some of the hair in hand and the comb. it's messy, but nothing she can't get out with some work.
starting from the ends, she's a lot gentler than he has been, carefully working against knots and snarls. the wood comb holds up, steadily freeing his locks. it's a task to be accomplished, and she'll handle it as she does everything else. besides, if he can trust her to do this, perhaps he'll trust that she won't surge forth and try to hurt him again. at least, not on purpose.]
[For everything, he's patient, only twitching on occasion when she pulls a particularly stubborn hair. Considering how he looks, it's surprisingly well-rooted; combined with her care, only a few strands get pulled out, black and white draping lazily over her hands. It's thick, and, despite the tangles and messy ends, it's surprisingly soft. And yet, the white parts are somewhat finer, the texture no less soft but different, as if it's another's hair. Those seem to yield to the comb more easier than the stubborn black.
It's a familiar feeling and yet not; Emily's hands, her rhythm are different. It's strange, and yet not wholly unpleasant.]
[it's an interesting condition, and under the guise of smoothing things out, she can feel it. it's not hard to guess where it's from and why, and she has to confess a mild envy to herself as to the quality. still, it's coming together, and Wujiu is beginning to look far more presentable than he did.
though silent, it's not unbearable or awkward. there is simply nothing she feels compelled to say, not even when everything is all combed out and it all falls around him like a fine curtain. there's something deeply calm about it, that makes even her mind slow down a little.]
[After everything that happened, it's soothing. His eyes are closed, his breathing is deep as if it's in a trance. Perhaps it's because of that strangely calming aura that he actually asks, where he normally rarely would--]
Can you braid it, as well?
[He can do it fine, but...her hands are nice. Careful. He's seen the way her own hair is braided, after all. Maybe it should be expected from a healer.
And if Bi'an gets pissed about someone else braiding it...he can come and beat him up himself.]
[since he asked, she can do it. setting the comb aside, she decides to braid it like she remembers it - as close to his neck as she can get, carefully dividing the hair into pieces. she's not rushing, but trying to make each part comfortably snug, to not fall out in a hurry. working like this, it's easy to get into a rhythm, turning black and white into a neat rope again.]
[He reaches back to feel the plait, and hums a noise of approval; he'd thought she'd do something completely different, like the way she does her own hair, but no, it's almost like what Bi'an would do. Not quite, but good enough...his fingertips linger over one of the finer, white bands briefly.]
[she's still got more to go, considering how long his hair is, but eventually she'll reach the end of the plait and be able to tie it off with a ribbon, looping it so it won't fall out too easily.]
[He's patient the whole way; for how much he likes to move, to dash and fight, for how impatient he usually is to get going... this time he stays silent until it's done and tied off. That's when he runs the full braid through his hair, marveling at how neat it is, the black and white mingling with few stray hairs out. Definitely much better than he could have done himself, even if he'd sat down and tried to do it slow. It's just one of those things that escapes him.]
This is really well done. You got a lot of practice, huh?
You could say that. Since I was old enough to put my own hair back, I have, and it's come easily from then.
[she won't say how long ago that was, but it's fair to assume a while. long enough to change styles, to try different things and then find herself settling in what she has, valuing practical consistency over something more showy. there's no reason for it, after all.]
It's easier to go about the day without a risk of it getting in my eyes, after all.
[He shifts his bag from the convenience store, seeming to struggle with himself (Wujiu is greedy, but Wujiu is honorable as well, in equal portions) and then reaches down to pull out a wrapped melon bun, setting it on the table. Here, he can't just let a job well done go unpaid-for.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
IDK WHEN after all the other stuff
Normally, he'd wait, shove it back, but...Bi'an hums in the back of his mind, even with the sips of the medicine he's been drinking. He...doesn't want to silence it completely.
So he takes a seat under an overhang, freeing it and starting to comb his hair out with his fingers. His braid is a mess, really--He's never been one to maintain it much. When he was alone, it was enough to keep it out of his eyes. When they were together, Bi'an would take the task upon himself with an almost greedy eagerness, and Wujiu would let him. In the Manor, they'd take turns.
His hands are meant for fighting, repairing umbrellas, mending slippers. Hair braiding isn't quite his forte.]
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except he looks somewhat out of sorts, and it's why she stops to analyze the situation.]
...Is everything alright, Mr. Fan?
[his hair's a mess, but certainly he could have waited until he got to his own apartment...?]
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[Long fingers force the last of his braid out, before he sets to combing them with his fingers. He normally would wait, but he's an impulsive creature, and with everything that's happened he's on edge. The hair falling against his jaw and neck had set him on edge in a strange way.
He doesn't give much of a response other than his initial one. He's kind of focused on this.]
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You might have better luck with an actual comb.
[just saying, as someone who has to do her own hair every day. it's not going to end terribly well, with tangles simply left to hide in the hair.]
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I have a comb. You may as well come in, since we're close enough already to my place.
[originally, she would have never allowed it, but with her injuries, there had been no choice. and nothing had happened then - which meant that perhaps, she could open her door yet again. it'll be exactly as he remembers it when they step inside, and she drops the small bundle of books in her arms on the center table.]
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[He's actually surprised that she'd even let him come with, but he follows along obediently enough, though he hangs back once she enters. He looks a little uncomfortable--it's not remorse so much as the thought of losing control again, especially when he hears the whispers in the back of his mind still.]
It's fine, right?
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[she gives a calmer smile over her shoulder, trying to soothe as she crosses to go retrieve what one needs to make a proper braid. a comb and a strip of cloth - yes, there were elastics, but sometimes the older ways were better.]
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You're acting as if I'm going to throw you out any second, and I'm not. What happened between us happened. I don't hold you at fault for something that occurred when you weren't in your right mind.
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Mmph. How are your wounds?
[He still doesn't sit down, instead reaching down to take the comb. His conscience, his self-assurance, his devotion to Bi'an...if he was there, really there, he'd do it all over again.
He starts to yank it through the long, striped fall of his hair without even blinking an eye, his twitching eyebrow more of a reflex than a conscious sign of pain.]
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[but with the way he's tugging on his hair, he's going to give himself new ones. she can't stop herself from sighing, extending her hand back to him - the sort of sigh that says someone's seen enough, and they're intervening.]
...Please sit, Mr. Fan.
[what she's offering should be clear enough from her expression.]
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[He tugs harder as a surprised reflex, and then winces as the comb rips particularly hard through a knot. He can do this himself (though he dislikes it). Really, only his father and Xie Bi'an have ever combed his hair, and that was long long ago. Why would she want to?]
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[it's simple in her eyes - he has a problem she can help with. but if he doesn't want it, she won't press, only yield the comb and ribbon and hope he somehow sorts it out.]
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...Bi'an had always liked his own hair neat and straight, combed and immaculate. He'd liked Wujiu's hair neat too, hadn't he, always gently berating him.
He usually never let it get this bad. It had been easier for Wujiu to work the little tangles out of their shared black and white whenever Bi'an hadn't been feeling well, the gloom emanating from the umbrella. This...he can't have it this way.
He swallows, sighs in defeat, and offers the comb, before plopping down on the floor with his back to her. The hair pools on the floor, and even sitting he towers above her, slouching forward gloomily.]
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starting from the ends, she's a lot gentler than he has been, carefully working against knots and snarls. the wood comb holds up, steadily freeing his locks. it's a task to be accomplished, and she'll handle it as she does everything else. besides, if he can trust her to do this, perhaps he'll trust that she won't surge forth and try to hurt him again. at least, not on purpose.]
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It's a familiar feeling and yet not; Emily's hands, her rhythm are different. It's strange, and yet not wholly unpleasant.]
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though silent, it's not unbearable or awkward. there is simply nothing she feels compelled to say, not even when everything is all combed out and it all falls around him like a fine curtain. there's something deeply calm about it, that makes even her mind slow down a little.]
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Can you braid it, as well?
[He can do it fine, but...her hands are nice. Careful. He's seen the way her own hair is braided, after all. Maybe it should be expected from a healer.
And if Bi'an gets pissed about someone else braiding it...he can come and beat him up himself.]
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[since he asked, she can do it. setting the comb aside, she decides to braid it like she remembers it - as close to his neck as she can get, carefully dividing the hair into pieces. she's not rushing, but trying to make each part comfortably snug, to not fall out in a hurry. working like this, it's easy to get into a rhythm, turning black and white into a neat rope again.]
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Thanks.
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[she's still got more to go, considering how long his hair is, but eventually she'll reach the end of the plait and be able to tie it off with a ribbon, looping it so it won't fall out too easily.]
There. Much better.
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This is really well done. You got a lot of practice, huh?
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[she won't say how long ago that was, but it's fair to assume a while. long enough to change styles, to try different things and then find herself settling in what she has, valuing practical consistency over something more showy. there's no reason for it, after all.]
It's easier to go about the day without a risk of it getting in my eyes, after all.
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[He shifts his bag from the convenience store, seeming to struggle with himself (Wujiu is greedy, but Wujiu is honorable as well, in equal portions) and then reaches down to pull out a wrapped melon bun, setting it on the table. Here, he can't just let a job well done go unpaid-for.]
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