I ignore the comment, trying to focus instead on my hair.
The last time Marlon was here was probably when we were 12, when Mum was on babysitting duty while Marlon’s parents worked longer hours at their old jobs. He’d always fiddled with my things. Once, he accidentally knocked over my beloved dollhouse that I got as a gift from my Great-Lola Lillian from the Philippines. I spent all night trying to rebuild it, and piece it back together.
The dollhouse itself is still on the top of my shelf, to which Marlon says, “Oh my gosh, that’s the house I broke isn’t it?”
“Yep it is,” I say, through gritted teeth, “Stay away from it so there’s no repeat, will you?”
I observe Marlon through my mirror as he steps away from the shelf, and heads over to my desk.
Atop of it liesPride and Prejudice,A Whisper of the Dark, scattered loose notes from film school and a cartoonified figurine of Jungkook from BTS.
His hands reach for Jungkook, and picks him up, turning him over.
“Huh, Jungkook, I’ve heard of him! The one from BTS right? Is he your number one?”
I groan as I accidentally tug a strand of my hair a little too hard.God- Why isn’t my hair cooperating this morning?
“Yes, he’s my number one,” I respond, and the frustration from my hair flows into my tone.
“What are you trying to do?” he asks.
I give up. Releasing my hair, I let it fall in frizzled cascades over my back. Marlon doesn’t even try to hide his laughter,his face scrunching in amusement as his eyes take in my appearance.
“Nothing, I was just trying to braid it. Make it look nice and neat or whatever,” I say, my voice fading from embarrassment.
“You don’t know how to braid?” Marlon asks, genuinely curious.
“I know how to braid obviously. It just keeps coming out messy this morning. Whatever, forget it. Come on, let’s go, I’ll grab my bag.”
I’m about to leave the room, when Marlon presses his hand against my shoulder, stopping me. He looms over my figure, examining my hair.
“Hmm. Turn around”
I quirk a brow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to braid your hair, duh.”
He steps forward, and I step backward, sceptical. He rolls his eyes, as if I’m the one being a nuance.
“Bianca makes me braid her hair sometimes. She made me learn it for her, since her Mum forgot how to do it. Just like you did, it seems.”
That tidbit of detail about Marlon’s life surprises me once again. I never thought Marlon would be the type to teach himself to braid hair just so he could make his little cousin happy. I add it to the list of redeeming qualities that I never knew about him.
“Okay fine I allow it,” I say, turning my back to him. We’re facing the vanity mirror, so I’m able to see as Marlon’s eyes roam over my hair, eyebrows pierced together as if trying to solve an equation.
“I promise you, this will be the best braid you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Marlon’s hands reach up toward my hair. His fingers brush the back of my neck, as he gathers the strands in a bunch,and the contact makes me shiver involuntarily. The reaction surprises me.
He catches my eye in the mirror, “Sorry, are my hands cold? I get a little chilly in the morning”
His fingers are indeed, not cold at all, but that would be a more reasonable explanation for my bodily reaction.
“Yes, it is,” I say, “But it’s whatever. Just continue with your excellent braid.”
His fingers weave through my hair, each contact sending shockwaves through my scalp. It’s calming, yet alarming all at once. I try to focus on anything else besides how unnervingly good this feels. My gaze floats toward his reflection in the mirror. His eyebrows are locked together, his mouth pursed to the side in concentration.
