#affectivedisorder

“Then you will feel it grow even faster.” Grove chuckled weakly, his body a skeletal, pale figure on a large, ditched bed. “And I think I would miss seeing its colour in the vehicle. Mine is so boring and Borgoff’s is just black.”

“What about Kyle? He has beautiful reddish hair.” she said, smiling, feeding him another spoon of soup. He made a funny face – Kyle had cooked supper that day and he wasn’t exactly the best cook in the world.

“Yes, but it doesn’t catch the light like yours.” Another spoon and he sighed. “We should really teach him how to cook.”

“I tried. An impossible task. He can’t see the difference between a potato and a turnip.” Leila touched her hair again, carefully balancing the bowl of soup on her lap. There was a small pout on her face and her brow was furrowed. “I’m growing a thin ponytail just like him! Ugh, I hate it!”

“I can cut it for you, if you want.” he said, his soft, melancholic smile back on his face. It was a usual sight for everyone in the group – Grove lying down in the dark, in that warm part of the vehicle that looked like a prison, with those bars on the windows and the dull, dark colours of the walls and floor.

“Thank you, but you need to rest.” she gently said, caressing his hand. She chuckled, looked out of one of the windows, and pointed at Nolt and Kyle looking for wood with which to build a fire. “I’ll ask them to help me cut it.”

“You will ask Nolt?” Grove’s surprise was mixed with disbelief. Then he fell back on the pillow and glared and pouted at her. “I can’t believe you’d rather ask him than let me do it.”

“It’s not like that!” she laughed, placing the half-empty bowl on an empty stool. “It’s you who always cut my hair whenever it got too long before, after all! But you’re too tired and weak today, Grove, and the last thing you need is sitting up and wasting time cutting this stupid thing.”

“I would not waste my time. And your hair isn’t stupid.” He nodded at a cabinet in a corner of the room. “Take the scissors and sit on the floor, against my bed. That way I won’t have to leave it.”

“But…!”

“Come on, Leila.” He smiled again, that sad, sorrowful smile, and her heart ached. With a sigh, she went to the cabinet, retrieved the scissors they had used so many times before, and went back to him. She sat down on the floor while he slowly, painfully, but steadily sat up on the bed and moved to face her head. It truly looked like a field of golden wheat thanks to the sunlight entering from the window and directly hitting it.

“How do you want it?” he asked and she shrugged, not really caring about style and fashion.

“The usual.”

He started cutting and the sound of the scissors touching her golden hair, Kyle and Nolt’s laughter outside, and Borgoff barking orders in a fond way where the only sounds they could hear. Then Grove spoke, so soft she almost missed it for a second: “I remember the first time I saw you. You looked like a tiny, wild bush with those enormous pigtails.”

“Eh.” she snorted, clenching and unclenching her hands, embarrassed, her face red. “I bet I looked like shit.”

“No, you were cute.” he chuckled, still snapping the scissors. His touch on her head was delicate, like the caress of a ghost, and she felt another painful pang in her heart. “You were shy, but also fierce. Remember how long it took us to convince you to finally cut those pigtails?”

“Yes.” She laughed with him this time. “I hid behind your legs and shouted at Borgoff to leave me alone. He looked so hurt!”

“And Kyle was laughing on the car’s roof. Turn your head this way, please.” He made a soft sound and his voice got quiet, with a hint of nostalgia in it. “I could still walk and play with you back then. Remember when we played skipping stones on that beautiful lake?”

“Yes.” She smiled and even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smiling, for he could hear it in her voice. “Now that I think about it, you and Nolt were the only ones who ever spent time playing with me. Borgoff would always make me train with guns and Kyle would teach me how to throw knives.”

“Kids need to play games.” he replied softly and she couldn’t see his face, either, but she didn’t hear the sadness his eyes had. “And you were so young and traumatized. You needed all the fun you could get.”

She looked for his hand and he stilled to avoid cutting her with the scissors. She patted the back of it – it was cold and so, so thin – and he held hers, his grip gentle, but firm. He still had some physical strength in him and she was so happy for that.

“Thank you.” she said and he knew she wasn’t referring just to her hair or the childhood he had tried to let her have for a little while more.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on her hair, then slowly pulled back. That was his reply and it meant more than words ever could.