Pastel Dreams || editing

fourteen - velvet and mistletoe

The rest of the flight was uneventful, mostly sleeping and snoring and Lucca making fun of Camellia.

He was surprised at how quickly it flew by, and save for a bit of anxiety when they landed, Lucca wasn't feeling out of his mind.

Back at the penthouse, they unpacked, briefly stopping for a light meal before going their separate ways once again. Clothes were sprawled here and there.

Lucca made his way to Camellia 's room, where he saw her leaning against the wall, her face contorted in pain. Her chest and other places she'd been hit were still painful sometimes, he remembered. She still had medication she took for it, but the plane ride and all of the standing from the party must have taken a toll on her.

"You need to go easy on yourself," he chided gently.

She immediately stiffened.

"I'm fine," came her faint reply. "I'm not some fragile thing you feel an obligation to take care of, Lucca," she added.

"I know that," Lucca murmured quietly, taken aback. He hadn't meant to come of nagging. "I just meant that-"

"Sorry. I'm just stressed out," Camellia interrupted him, weariness on her features. "I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Lucca just nodded, slowly stepping out of the room.

"Lucca!" She called after him.

"What?" He hollered back.

"Indian for dinner?"

Soon enough he was savoring butter chicken and naan, sipping on coke. They'd have to do the groceries soon enough because the fridge was empty.

"Any good?" He questioned, gazing at the girl beside him, on the floor, feet tangled up in big blankets she'd found somewhere.

She nodded quickly, not looking at him and frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Cam."

"It's just, I need to take out my braids and I really don't have the faith to do it. Plus, this cast is really annoying, I can't do anything," she complained softly, finally shifting to meet his gaze.

"Can I help?" He asked after a pause.

She looked at him, unsure.

"I have natural hair," she stated.

"And your point is...?"

"Natural hair isn't white hair," she said with a smile.

"I can do it," he assured her. "We'll do it together."

He proposed, rising. "Do you have a comb or anything like that?"

"In the bathroom," she answered, amused. "I hope you aren't squeamish."

He fetched it and they got to work. He had big hands, so it wasn't the easiest of things, but they managed. It took a while, taking out her hair, combing it out and washing it afterwards, only to braid it again.

He wasn't impatient, mesmerized by the show playing on the television, and when he was done, she ran her hands over it and looked at him, surprised.

"It looks really good," she praised, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.

"Thank you," came his smug reply.

"How did you learn?"

"Have you iced your sides yet?"