Knuckle doesn't mean to say anything. He doesn't even realize what he's doing, watching Shoot smooth the long fall of his hair into some kind of submission, until the taller man collects the mass of it into a loop with one hand and pulls it over his shoulder. Knuckle knows that Shoot will let the twist drop, reach around to his covered shoulder to pull his sleeve free, and then spend the next fifteen minutes plaiting the strands into close-lying braids across his scalp to contain the larger part of the hair. He doesn't think through how he knows this, or what it says about the amount of time he has spent idly watching Shoot handle his hair, and he certainly doesn't think through the impulse that pushes him to his feet to move towards the other.
"Hey."
Shoot doesn't quite jump, but he flinches in surprise, and when he turns his head to look at Knuckle his eyes are wide and frightened as they always are. Knuckle wants to tell him he's not going to hurt him, wants to point out that they've been Morel's students together for years, now, Shoot should know by now that Knuckle poses no threat at all to him. But he recognizes that look of half-wild panic in human eyes as easily as he does in the animals that approach him, and his instinct for the situation kicks in over his brief flash of frustration. He slows his pace, takes his hands out of his pockets so they're still and palm-up at his sides, and Shoot's shoulders relax a bit even before he speaks.
"Lemme help you." He clears his throat, which is tightening around his words even though he's not sure why. "Silly thing to use your Nen for when you've got an extra pair of ordinary hands." He holds his up to illustrate, and Shoot's mouth twists into a smile for a moment before the expression drops back into wary attention.
"Okay," he says, so soft Knuckle wouldn't hear it if he weren't close enough to touch Shoot already anyway, and he turns his head away so Knuckle can see the way his hair drapes dark against his neck.
Truth be told, Knuckle's never braided someone else's hair before, and it takes a few false starts before he can recall the knack of the movement and lay the line of the pattern flat against Shoot's scalp. But Shoot smiles every time Knuckle mumbles a curse and restarts, like the expression is getting startled out of him, and by the time the plait forms itself neatly under Knuckle's fingers Shoot's shoulders have relaxed and his head is just steady, not tense, as the other pulls gently at his hair.
"You do this yourself?" Knuckle asks after he gets the first row done. Shoot's hair is heavy with length and oddly soft under his fingers; he expects it ought to knot into tangles but it rather seems to fall free of them as he touches it.
Shoot makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds vaguely of affirmation and more of pleasure, and when Knuckle tips sideways to look at him the taller man has his eyes shut, and all the tension usually lining his face has gone clear and relaxed. He looks younger, softer, and for a moment Knuckle's hands stall before he recollects himself to the task at hand and resumes, face faintly hot.
"Why do you braid it like this?" he asks, although he can see the answer before Shoot talks. The question fills the silence, and when Shoot takes a breath and speaks the calm in his voice is more soothing even than the feel of his hair.
"It keeps it out of the way. It's something of a liability in the middle of combat, otherwise."
"I like it," Knuckle volunteers as he finishes off another row. "It looks cool."
Shoot laughs, chuckles soft in the back of his throat, and Knuckle grins even though the other can't see him.
"Thank you."
"Welcome," Knuckle offers back. When he starts on the row an inch over Shoot's ear the other man tips his head slightly to the side, giving Knuckle a better angle on what he's doing. The movement catches light off the metal wrapped around Shoot's ear and draws the line of his neck taut, and Knuckle pauses for a moment in what he's doing.
"These are cool too," he says absently, transferring the half-finished braid to one hand so he can draw a fingertip against the earring. He can see the way Shoot goes tense, can hear the sudden shuddering inhale the other man takes, and he pulls away fast, even though he can hear that that's not fright under the sound.
"Ah," he says, "Sorry," and he brings his hands back to the work under his fingers even as Shoot mumbles something politely inconsequential.
He makes it through the rest of Shoot's hair without that first flicker of tension quite fading away, and by the time he's done he feels like his fingers are too clumsy to be trusted with the rich color of Shoot's hair. The last row is noticeably sloppier than the others, and the whole is less elegant than Shoot usually manages, but the other man doesn't say anything when he opens his eyes and reaches up to touch the rows. Knuckle backs away, steps sideways so he's back in Shoot's periphery instead of the blind spot directly behind him, and when he sees the way Shoot's mouth is curving he's certain the other man has no awareness of the expression.
"Sorry about the mess," he says needlessly. Shoot blinks, and looks at him, and the smile is gone like Knuckle's chased it away with his speech. "Been a while. I'll get better with practice."
The statement hangs between them for a moment before Knuckle realizes what he's said, stumbles to caveat his words. "I mean. If you want me to help out again."
Shoot blinks at him, his expression blank so Knuckle almost thinks he'll need to repeat himself, but then the smile starts in his eyes before spreading to the corners of his mouth, and Knuckle knows what he's going to say even before Shoot says "I'd like that."