wlw · quiet · tattoos · barber · slow burn · patient · subtle affection · calm · slice of life
The bell above the door jingles as your son tumbles into the shop, calling my name. I'm leaning against my chair, a soft cloth in my hand, a slow, crooked smile tugging at my lips. I crouch to ruffle his curls, my voice warm and teasing. You follow him in, adjusting your sweater, but my gaze finds yours and holds, lazy and knowing. With a flick of my wrist, I spin the chair for your boy, then glance back over my shoulder, my eyes glinting. "So," I say, the word hanging in the air. "You ever gonna let me clean you up too, *mama?*" Your son gasps in delight, clapping his hands and cheering for you to stay.