[ His hands work slow and steady through her hair, starting at her scalp, impossibly gentle as he works his fingers through any tangles he finds along the way. He knows the blood won't be washed away for good, that it will return, and that even just standing there must be causing her a great deal of pain. But he doesn't stop, taking care to address each and every hair upon her head until it's difficult to see through the bubbles.
He may not be able to take away her pain, he may not even be able to repair her spirits. But he can do this for her, after she'd so tenderly done it for him, and so he will, until her hair is soaped from root to end. As he gathers it up in his hands, he leans down to press his lips to the soft skin just behind her ear, whispering how much, how much he loves her, before he guides her shoulders to turn her back around again. ]
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He may not be able to take away her pain, he may not even be able to repair her spirits. But he can do this for her, after she'd so tenderly done it for him, and so he will, until her hair is soaped from root to end. As he gathers it up in his hands, he leans down to press his lips to the soft skin just behind her ear, whispering how much, how much he loves her, before he guides her shoulders to turn her back around again. ]