gently nudging him under the water, smiling softly when he ducks his head so a little stream of water trails onto your shoulder. it's quiet, neither of you feel the need to talk as you let the shampoo collect in your palm. it's cool on your skin and you later it between your hands before bringing your hands up to rake it through his hair. he bends his head forward further to allow you easier access.
it takes time, gentle hands and soft work to loosen the gel that holds his hair up every day. you do the work, easily and carefully, watching as his eyes droop. he's tired from working all day, from smiling and talking and charming, and now he's quiet, leaning down so you can drag your fingers along his scalp and work away the grime and thick product.
before you, he never let others mess with his hair, always sure that they wouldn't take the same care that he does to keep his hair healthy after all the bleaching. but, with you, he doesn't hesitate to say yes when you ask to wash his hair.
he rests his hands on your hips as you work, thumbs moving gently and without any ulterior intentions, just touching you and watching your face peacefully.
he nearly purrs when you move to the conditioner, detangling his hair with your fingers, pulling and soothing any spots where you might have tugged too hard at his roots.
he returns the favor when you're done, gently massaging your scalp with the shampoo, removing the shower head to gently rinse without risking the soapy water running into your eyes, and carefully passing the conditioner through your ends.
and, when you both leave the shower with pruned hands and sleepy eyes, he can't imagine a life without you.