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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧
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''Are we ever going to talk about your hair?'' you said as you hugged one arm around your body and brought your glass of strawberry tea against your lips, taking a small sip of it. You leaned with your back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle, eyes glued on the boy who sat on the tip of the couch. His legs were spread, forearms resting on his knees while he pressed aggressively on all of the buttons of his controller with a frown prominent on his face, showing off the frustration he was feeling because of a video game.
There was a brief silence before Azami let out some coughs. ''HAAAA. I KEEP DYING. WHY?'' he breathed out as he let his controller fall onto his lap, his body plopping back on the couch in defeat and irritation. He dragged his hand across his face and stared at the screen for a few seconds, wondering what he keeps doing wrong. ''I haven't played this game in a while and they've changed a lot. That must be it.''
''Azami?''
He wasn't paying attention to you. You cleared your throat and walked towards him, putting your cup of tea on the coffee table and sat close to him, letting the tension between the two of you grow thick without a single care. You put your hand on his shoulder when you saw him move back into his original position once he had revived himself in the game. You impulsively moved your body, pressing your lips against his neck and gave him a kiss with a smack, and your lips felt lonely when they left the smooth surface of his skin. ''H-Huh?'' Azami laughed, looking at you from the corners of his eyes as he continued paying more attention to his game than to you. You pouted and he pressed some kind of button that showed his profile, basically pausing his game. ''What's it, Y/N? You surprised me,'' he chuckled awkwardly, scratching the top of his head with closed eyes.
''We need to talk.''
''About what?''
''What happened last night? You cut your hair and-'' you inhaled deeply. You didn't know exactly how to bring this to him, you didn't want to sound like a mother scolding their child. You were both adults and allowed to do whatever, but you were still concerned about the decision he had made. ''-you smelled of smoke. Did you have a cigarette? What did you do?''
He blinked, eyes glued to the television rather than at you, it was like he didn't want to face you. He coughed in the crook of his elbow again and rolled his neck before running his hand through his hair. ''It's nothing, really,'' he said cordially, coughing a few times again. You narrowed your eyes, feeling kind of hurt that he was lying to you. He knew the conditions of his lungs and what the damage one single cigarette could do to him. It was common sense. High school biology. He should know. Apart from that, his hair was choppy, some parts longer than others and it was obvious he cut his hair randomly without trying to make it look pretty. It wasn't like he tried to give himself a haircut, and if that was what he tried to do then he had failed horribly.
