Connections- A Kny story of uppermoons 2 and 3

What is this warmth?

They both stood there, in awkward silence before the demon finally uttered a groan of annoyance and grabbed the towel from the younger boy's hand roughly. "Stupid idiot" he muttered, rolling his glowing honey eyes with a scornful expression on his pale face. "Turn the hell around and let me do it already since you can't seem to be able to do anything yourself". Douma turned around soundlessly and let go of the soggy hair in his hands so the demon could reach it.

The words he was saying were mean, but the gesture was... almost kind? Douma wasn't sure, emotions and feelings were still completely alien to him even now. But he decided to accept the help gladly. Maybe this was his way of thanking him for the shelter?. Akaza sighed loudly once again and raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a hairbrush or something?" He asked pointedly, rolling his eyes a second time when he was handed one by the taller man.

"You dumb fuck go sit down or something, you think i can reach your head?" He laughed, pushing his back towards the bed roughly. "You're too tall for your own good". Douma giggled as he sat down on the corner of his large bed. "Or maybe you're just too short". He got a light whack on the back of the head in response to that, along with a huffy kind of irritated noise from the smaller male. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, the demon sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

It was strange, having his hair handled like this. Not the fact that it was being brushed and cleaned by someone, that was a usual thing. But the fact that it felt so..... different? It was hard to describe, but it was unusual being handled so carefully. Like he was an actual person for once. Usually it was treated like a kind of chore, like....cleaning a piece of furniture. It was done in silence, or two workers chatted to each other in the process, not to him. Never to him. It felt like he was a kind of ornament most of the time. A statue that sat and listened to people's problems all day and looked pretty. Something that was handled with the kind of care you would give to a delicate piece of china. Not a person.

It wasn't like it was gentle. No this demon was harsh in some ways, but yet he talked to him properly, they teased each other, the brush strokes, while sometimes seeming rough and uncaring, were soft and gentle. Whenever he made a remark he was rewarded with a small laugh and a smack with the hairbrush. The laugh was nice. Douma couldn't remember the last time he had made someone laugh. Or even heard someone laugh like this. The smacks weren't so nice. They hurt.

It was almost like they were two normal teenagers at that moment. Not a century old demon and a friendless statue. It was nice, and the room was warm and bright, the laughter was contagious and his chest felt....warm? It was unusual. Something he couldn't understand. Maybe it was just extra hot in here?

Before long he felt his eyelids go droopy, with the warm, comforting atmosphere of the room, and the fact that he'd been awake all night caused his vision to darken with the overwhelming tiredness. He felt.. safe and sleepy. Not thinking about his surroundings or what would be appropriate for the situation, the blonde leaned back gently until his head hit something warm and solid behind where he was sitting. Then sleep overtook him.