Note: Written for a drabble prompt from seashores. It somehow turned out somewhat longer than a drabble.

Lion had never been one to complain about the responsibilities that came with his station in life. Even before understanding what his existence meant to the millions of other possible variations of himself, spread across the sea of fragments - he had been raised to prize the virtues of grace and dignity. What Kinzo may have forgotten to teach, Natsuhi remembered – and growing up alongside Jessica's rebellious form of energy, seeing the stress that resulted for both, served as a daily reminder to show the proper gratitude to those who had raised him.

So it was only with the slightest trace of strain, undetected by nearly all those around him, that he went about his duties in assisting with the preparations for his father's upcoming financial meeting.

This particular occasion wasn't as difficult to manage as the annual family conference—lingering tensions between Kinzo's children resulted in both Krauss and Natsuhi being particularly vehement about putting their best foot forward on those days, which in reality meant more trouble for the servants than anything—but it still wasn't what one would call a pleasant experience. Although education under Kinzo had given Lion the capacity to, when necessary, be forceful, it wasn't a role he particularly enjoyed.

Nonetheless, he had finished assisting his mother in instructing the servants and adjusting their schedules, re-verifying the orders for the refreshments, and discussing with both his father and grandfather the profiles of each of the arriving guests and subsequently, the strategies that were to be deployed to make them more open to his father's financial proposals. After all of that, it was something of a relief to be left alone, the only thing left to worry about, before the meeting proper began, being to make himself presentable.

So it was one extensive shower later, and after dressing himself, that Lion allowed himself to fall somewhat gracelessly into the chair in front of his dresser. He was considering the viability of taking a few minutes of rest when a familiar shadow fell next to him.

"Pretty wasteful with your water, aren't you?" Will remarked.

In spite of the stress, Lion managed to smile. He let his neck roll slightly over the back of the chair until the familiar blue coat and neutral expression focused into his line of sight.

"This whole sneaking in is a rather bad habit of yours."

"You know how it is. I go where I'm needed," Will said, briefly raising both hands in the air. Before Lion could think very hard about that, he continued, "I got a sense of the commotion outside. What's on milord's agenda this evening?"

"The same as usual." Lion shifted slightly, opening a drawer just beneath the mirror to extract a dark, gilded brush. "Father is entertaining some of his old business contacts in an attempt to revitalize some of his investment possibilities."

"So it's a sales pitch. And he wants to present his ever-reliable paragon of a son at his side."

"That's an extremely rude way of saying it, but the image of a stable family is a valuable thing to have in business." Lion ran the brush through the full length of his hair a few times before reaching towards the dresser again, passing over his usual black hairband in favor of the more elaborate piece adjacent to it.

He hesitated, however, as Will's form in the mirror moved closer to his own, and he felt the warmth of the other man's fingers pressing lightly over his own hand, still poised against his hair.

"Let me get that for you."

His initial instinct was to protest, but Will's straightforwardness, as much as Lion balked internally at its usual blend of presumptuousness and discourtesy, also carried the same strange, disarming quality as always.

Their eyes met briefly through the mirror. Lion lowered his hand from the back of his head in assent, lifting the brush over his shoulder. Will took it.

"Try not to make me look too ridiculous."

A smirk flickered across Will's features. "I'll do my utmost to preserve the young master's dignity."

He shifted his position slightly, rolling back the sleeves of his coat. He circled Lion once; as he shuffled his way past the dresser, the edge of his sleeve carelessly knocked the black hairband fell to the ground. Lion rolled his eyes. Will, predictably, didn't seem to pay it much mind—once settled behind Lion again, he ran his fingers a few times through the length of Lion's blonde hair, considering.

"Of all of your skills," Lion murmured, "Hairdressing comes as a bit of a surprise."

The former inquisitor shrugged. "It's not like I'm an expert or anything. Tilt your head back a little—no, not that much. Yeah. Like that."

Once Lion had obeyed, Will's hands lingered on his scalp for a long moment, fingertips light against the skin—just as Lion had tensed enough from the prolonged stillness to ask what he thought he was doing, they fell, finally, to the base of his neck and began to work.

"You wanted to use this?" Even though Lion could see it clearly through the mirror for himself, Will dangled the rose-adorned hairpiece in front of his nose.

Slightly exasperated: "Yes."

"Fancy."

"I am meeting with society's elite, you know. I have to impress."

"Sounds like a real pain."

"It's not easy," Lion said, "I can tell you that much."

After a few minutes of brushing—Will was gentler than Lion would have given him credit for, both with the brush and as he tucked Lion's hair behind his ears—in spite of himself, he found himself sinking comfortably back into the chair. A moment later, through slightly lidded eyes, he registered the particular motions of Will's hands, dividing his hair into separate strands behind his back and weaving them cleanly into each other.

"You're braiding it?"

There was a hint of something playful in Will's voice. "Got a problem?"

"It's just... a bit strange, still. Your expertise continues to surprise me." The inquisitor's subsequent snort seemed to indicate that the back-handed nature of the compliment had not escaped him, and Lion's smile broadened. "Was it all the long hours spent grooming Diana?"

He expected a pithy reply—probably something about his cat-nee-girlfriend's high standards, demanding nature, and exacting punishments—but instead, Will shrugged. "Political nonsense and all it entails exists even where I come from."

Lion blinked, leaning forward slightly; Will's fingers rose quickly to tilt his head back into position. "Oh? You'll forgive me if I have a hard time imagining you entertaining the high-brow and organizing fundraisers..."

"I might surprise you," Will replied. Then, casually, "Knox's father was always better at that kind of thing than I was, though."

It took Lion a second to place what he was talking about. "You mean, Miss Dlanor's father?"

"Yeah. Since he headed up the Eiserne—you know, what she does now—we worked together now and again when..." Will paused briefly, searching for the next words. Lion waited. "When issue was taken with some of our policy decisions. My role back then was generally to stand looking pretty and scowl a couple of times while he did the talking. Things changed a little after he died..."

Lion's head turned again, but this time, if Will noticed, he gave no indication of it, continuing his work.

It wasn't often that Will brought up his personal history—what things had been like for him before they had met that rainy day in the chapel, where whatever identity he had beyond detective and outsider came second to the case—to Clair. Even now, Lion wasn't sure he had a full grasp of what exactly the SSVD was or its particulars.

He didn't want to demand explanations—it wasn't his place, and for his own part, Will seemed uninterested in discussing whatever had made him decide to leave behind his old life and the title of Wright. But it was something that, if Lion was being honest with himself, that he did wonder about, now and again, as the days with Will at his side had passed. During the times when Will's eyes sometimes drifted to places Lion couldn't follow, prompted by things that Lion rarely understood.

"Things changed?" Lion repeated. "Miss Dlanor took his place, didn't she?" After another moment of consideration: "So you stepped up to look after her."

He had never thought of it as something to be too troubled about – the natural assumption that there would always be places within a witch-hunter that a human couldn't reach. It was a matter of course between two people who had led such different lives. It didn't mean that they couldn't care for each other.

And yet there was something almost funny, now, listening to him—and as Will continued fixing Lion's hair, speaking in low, lazy tones, an odd impression of warmth began to flicker its way through Lion's chest.

"Probably wouldn't put it like that. I didn't really have a choice in the matter. But yeah, Dlanor was..." Will trailed off again. "Things happened. Anyway, she adjusted pretty well in the end, but in the beginning she didn't exactly have the mindset to charm her way through fancy dinner parties and the like."

"So you had to acquire that 'mindset' yourself," Lion murmured, "whether you liked it or not."

It was a sense of warmth, he realized, that he wouldn't mind becoming more used to.

"I never was a fan," Will said. "Too much brown-nosing nonsense just to court the favor of idiots who never knew what they were complaining about in the first place. Food was usually terrible, too. Stuff gives you a headache..."

"Trust me," Lion said, "I do understand."

Will's fingers paused again, briefly. "Yeah," he said, after a moment. "I know you do."

The last knot tightened; after tying the finished braid back with a second band, Will's hands fell from Lion's hair; Lion turned his head to the left, and then to the right; the braid swung appropriately smoothly from his shoulders.

"I'll admit," he allowed, "You didn't do a bad job." He turned to Will; the former inquisitor returned his gaze with a slight tilt of his head. "And I'll admit that I'm a little curious. What you're implying is that you did some dressing up yourself for those functions?"

Will frowned, hands sliding into his pockets.

Lion chuckled a little. "It's difficult to envision you wearing a tuxedo. Don't tell me you left your hair like that, too." At the other man's frankly suspicious look, Lion added, "The 'rolled-out-of-bed' look has its own appeals, I'm sure, but if you were entertaining politicians..."

"I usually did up my hair," Will said, gesturing in a vague and thoroughly unhelpful way. "And the uniform..."

He considered.

"And the uniform?" Lion prompted.

"There were frills," Will said, at last. At Lion's raised eyebrows, he tapped the cuffs of his sleeve twice, and then his collar. When Lion began to laugh outright, Will's lips quirked, and he rubbed the back of his head.

"All right," Lion said, standing, once his lungs had emptied themselves of mirth. "I've heard enough. Your turn."

Will's hand lowered. "Sorry?"

"Sit down. You can hardly attend an Ushiromiya meeting looking like that." Will glanced at the emptied chair, then back to Lion, then back to the chair. Catching onto Lion's meaning, his shook his head once, bemused.

"I'll pass. Not really my—" Will began, but his own yelp cut off his intended refusal as Lion's fingers attacked the usual place on his rear end.

"You're an accomplice now. If I have to endure this, so do you." Lion chuckled again; at a tug of the arm and the threat of a second pinch, Will reluctantly obeyed. "Especially now that I know you are capable of conducting yourself properly for the occasion."

Will squinted at him in distinct skepticism; it was an expression that often struck Lion as, rather than being intimidating, being closer to a pout. "I don't belong there. No one will know who I am."

"I'll come up with something," Lion said. As he spoke, he leaned down close to Will's ear, one hand on the taller man's shoulder. Will's eyes darted sidelong to him, once, and something in his mouth tightened, but he didn't answer. Lion continued, "I'm the upcoming successor to Kinzo Ushiromiya. If I don't pull something eccentric now and again, those who know him will doubt my qualifications."

"Get a man to talk," Will muttered, "and then use the information against him. Is that a technique Kinzo passed onto you too?"

"One of the basics," Lion said, "actually."

Will's expression stayed sour. "You certainly look pleased with yourself about it."

"I am," Lion said. His voice came out a note softer than he expected. From the way Will's eyes flickered, it didn't escape his notice, either—and Lion felt the muscles in the older man's shoulders, beneath his hands, begin to give way and relax.

"All right," Will said, with a final shrug. But his voice had softened as well. "Do what you want."

Lion smiled again. And as he reached forward to push back the mess of brown—the strands somewhat coarse, but light, and one ridiculous piece of red distinct amongst them—the sense of warmth remained.