The undignified snickering behind his back would alone have been enough to make him aware of the less than splendid mess of hair on his head, but Wataru is accustomed enough to styling it that just the way Eichi has been sliding the brush through it gives him an idea of what this looks like. And it’s a mess in every sense of the word.

How very sneaky to approach him so sweetly, fingers running through his hair to soothe and relax, then asking for a brush ever so innocently.

“How is it, Wataru?”

The mere motion of turning his head sends hair falling into his face.

A smile.

“I think His Majesty’s efforts are better placed in a different field.”