Kai's POV
I've been through explosions, high-speed chases, and one time, a hostage situation in Morocco with nothing but a paperclip and gum.
None of those prepared me for this.
"OW! Kai, that was a knot, not a rope! Be gentle!"
"You're the one with Rapunzel-level hair that tangles when the air conditioner turns on. Sit still."
Sky pouts at me through the mirror, clutching a flower crown she made out of garden daisies and violence.
"Anyway," she says, completely ignoring the war I'm fighting with her hair, "his name's Day. He's soooo cold. Like, ice prince cold. Doesn't talk to anyone. Never smiles. Tall, broad shoulders. I saw him do a backflip in P.E. and almost fainted."
I pause.
"You almost fainted over a backflip?"
"He was sweaty and mysterious! Shut up."
Of course.
She flops dramatically, head tilting back so far she nearly knocks over the vase on her vanity. "He gave me his pen yesterday," she sighs. "I think it means something."
"It means he was done using it."
"You have no soul."
I finally manage to separate a chunk of her jet-black hair without crying. "And you have enough hair to knit a blanket. Hold still."
She hums. "Do you think he likes girls who bring homemade lunch? Or should I act mysterious? I could try being cold too. Like, 'Oh, I don't even know what emotions are.'"
"You literally cry when your pancake is too fluffy."
"DON'T BRING THAT UP."
I snort.
Once the braid is halfway done, she presses a daisy into my palm. "Put this in the side. The left side. It's my flower side."
"…You have a flower side?"
"Obviously."
I do as instructed, because at this point, resistance is useless.
Sky catches her reflection and beams. "I look like a fairy princess who could commit arson."
"That's… terrifyingly accurate."
She spins around and tackles me into a hug, braid flying over my shoulder like a whip. "You're the best, Kai. Even if you are rude, and single, and emotionally unavailable."
"Thanks. I think."
"Oh, and if Day asks who did my hair, tell him it was a mysterious stylist from Milan. No offense, but you don't scream 'flower aesthetic.'"
None taken.
She skips out of the room, still rambling about Day's bone structure and shoulder width, leaving a battlefield of flowers, hair ties, and my dignity behind.
I sit in silence.
And then text Seb:
> She's got a crush. We need a sniper.