"Mm."

She nods, inadvertently looking up as she leans into the feeling of his fingers through her hair, the soft sound of the wooden comb.

It is a strangely intimate feeling, a familiar feeling. She can't help but to think that maybe there was another time when someone else combed her hair for her before bed. Who was it?

She couldn't remember so she lets the memory slide away, lets her mind empty of everything but the smell of the night air, of Kyousuke, of this moment.