"What is it?" he asks blankly, staring fearfully at the black object as if it's suddenly going to leap up and attack him.
"It's a comb, silly," she admonishes, amused brown eyes twinkling at him in that way he so loved and hated.
"A what?"
"A comb! You use it to brush your hair and keep it in place."
"People do that?"
A red eyebrow reaches her hairline and her head cocks a little to the side, exposing more of her graceful neck. He foolishly spends the moment she replied to him at staring at the pale skin and desperately trying not to imagine running his lips up and down it.
"Huh?" he blurts out, finally realizing that she did talk to him and was now expecting a reply.
She shakes her head. "I can't imagine it'll do anything for you, though," she muses, running a hand through the dark mess on top of his head. He closed his eyes, savouring the feeling before opening them again at once.
"I love your hair the way it is, anyhow," she quips, smiling brightly. She stands on her tiptoes and presses her soft lips against his cheek.
"Happy Christmas!"
Colour blooms across his face as he struggles to get out a reply, his brain temporarily shutting down at her sudden close proximity.
Her red ponytail swings with her movement and she walks away contentedly, leaving the love-struck boy behind her with a goofy grin on his face.