Only Ritsuka can brush Soubi's hair
Sometimes Soubi would paint and paint for hours, completely losing track of time. When he finally set down the brushes, he would tug at his hair impatiently, struggling to release it from its now-snarled ponytail. Ritsuka knew how sensitive his Fighter was and that if he left his hair up for too long, it hurt him and he would wince taking it out.
If Ritsuka happened to be there, he would come around behind Soubi, gently reaching his hands up to place them over his Fighter's. He would order Soubi to sit down and leave his hair alone. Ritsuka would then ever so gingerly tease the elastic out of Soubi's hair, careful fingers only barely touching the silken strands. Gathering his Fighter's soft hair in his hands, he would delicately massage his scalp, particularly the tender place where the ponytail had just been, causing Soubi to moan slightly.
Picking up the hairbrush, Ritsuka would slowly begin combing through Soubi's long locks, starting at the ends to make sure he got all the tangles out. He realized that he had to be especially attentive because he knew that Soubi was hypersensitive when it came to his hair. He never let anyone else touch it, and on the rare occasion it was caught or pulled during battle, Ritsuka could feel Soubi's anguish reverberate through their bond like a piercing scream.
If Ritsuka accidentally pulled too hard, or even if his hand slipped slightly, Soubi's entire frame would tense up under him. On bad days he would go entirely rigid and get that glazed look in his eyes that frightened Ritsuka because he knew Soubi was reliving some horrible moment from his past. When that happened, Ritsuka would stop immediately and wrap his arms around his Fighter, placing one hand on his too-fast-beating heart. Then he would bury his face in Soubi's shampoo-and-cigarette scented hair and just breathe with him until he was okay again.
Ritsuka loved Soubi's hair; he loved the fact that no one else but him was allowed to touch it, and he especially loved how Soubi would turn to jelly in his arms if he could get him past the sensitive stage, which he almost always could. It would progress to the point where each stroke sent Soubi into raptures and he would purr contentedly, curling his slender fingers around Ritsuka's ankles.
There were few things Ritsuka felt he could do to make his Fighter truly, simply happy, and this was one of them. Despite the fact that Soubi insisted that "whatever Ritsuka wanted" pleased him, Ritsuka knew that Soubi had a bad habit of swallowing his own needs to the point where he couldn't even recognize them himself.
Ritsuka did recognize them, however. He understood that Soubi needed to be touched, craved it like water in the desert. If he were touch-deprived for too long, Ritsuka would find him curled up against himself, shaking, rubbing his arms and legs, as if trying to create a cocoon of safety against the harshness of the world. Sometimes while in that state, Soubi wouldn't even recognize Ritsuka, nor accept his orders. Ritsuka had learned that if he simply laid down next to Soubi and stroked his hair gently, softly whispering his name, eventually his Fighter would reach up and take his hand. Then Soubi would turn over and wrap his arms around his Sacrifice, murmuring into his hair, "I'm sorry, Ritsuka." Ritsuka would order him to hush and they would lay like that, curled up together, until Ritsuka could feel Soubi's strength returning to him.
Ritsuka knew Soubi needed someone to be there when things got… bad. His Fighter needed patience and careful attention and most of all, he desperately, desperately needed love. Yet, although Soubi talked a lot about love and he told Ritsuka a thousand times a day that he loved him, he wasn't very good at receiving love himself. Ritsuka had to sneak it in wherever he could. And so, Ritsuka would brush Soubi's hair, and every stroke, every touch, every soft wave was a silent message: I love you, I love you, I love you.