Presea's touch was soft, cool against the skin at the back of Zelos' neck as she gathered his hair into her hands, twining the red strands between her small fingers. Hesitantly, her hands began to move, wrapping the three chunks of hair skillfully into a braid. Her movements were quick and sure, and the process was the second-natured kind that all girls seem to know.
Zelos sat quietly, a smile playing on his lips, and allowed her fingers to continue moving through his hair, gentle and questioning, a constant silent concern whether this was acceptable. He didn't mind this contact, if it made her feel more human, more comfortable among them. He couldn't imagine how she felt, waking up everyday not knowing where her life went.
How does one continue, he wondered, when one doesn't even know what continuing is? Her mind must have been full of racing thoughts about where the lives of those she loved had gone; where her own life, where she herself, had gone.
She had to remember that she was a human being with a personality, he though. She couldn't do that on her own. She needed them to remind her. He was willing to be her crutch, her lifeline to the real world, if she would have him.
Her hands brushed against the small of his back, resting lightly there, her task complete. She sat there for a moment, hesitation, before quickly running her fingers through his hair, loosing it to tumble in fiery waves down his back. As she stood to hurry away, he could have sworn she whispered, "Thank you."