hums a sweet tune from memories far gone as he divides his hair into three parts, slowly beginning to braid it without much thought; he had learnt it from maria, years ago; yet he would not know this now.
   IT HAD TAKEN SOME GALL ( and pure luck ) from Firion to convince Kain to let him touch his hair, his battleworn fingers permitted to glide through long blond locks and to tug and twist them into place. Truth be told, Kain had not had someone even ask to touch his hair since Rydia had taken it upon herself to give him a small bun back on the Lunar Whale, seeming worlds ago, exclaiming, â Thatâll keep that helmet hair under control !  â
Before that? Priceless, hoarded memories of childhood between he, Cecil, and Rosa, discovering each other through Baronian fashion and makeup standards. While Cecil doned beads and Rosa jewel encrusted hairpins, Kain had preferred to simply pull his hair back as a necessity in order to keep it out of his face when jumping through the air. Yet even Firion found it was for toying with.Â
A small exhale of breath left, like the sound of anxious relief he hadnât known he had been holding there in his chest when the other began to sing, lulling him into these fond little memories of his friends back home with foreign words he didnât recognize but didnât seem to mind either. To think he thought he might enjoy distancing himself from them after all was said and done - no, in the end he could not stand to be alone.
And so perhaps thatâs why Kain finds eventually comfort enough to eventually doze off to the soothing lilt of Firionâs voice, wrapping around him like a sort of blanket, only the dull tug of his braiding keeping him upright. Company, no matter the form, has always made him happiest.
