[ Growing up the way he has, Byakuya is quite used to other people in his personal space, particularly with regards to the practical realities of his daily life. His hair, he usually handles himself and it's a balm to his senses, this small pocket of calm, alone with himself and his own choices. The last person to help him with his hair was Hisana and only because she truly wanted to. The thought makes his chest feel impossibly heavy. Gaze hardening a fraction as Isamu draws closer on his knees, he resigns himself to the fact that just today, he will have to break this tiny, precious routine in favour of taking care of his duties. He was late even before he came back, after all. He has no time to be particular.
Isamu, meanwhile, slips into his personal space with calming familiarity. He doesn't ask, merely observes and acts accordingly to what he sees, reaching for the ruined hairpiece. As he begins to disentangle it from Byakuya's hair, he's very aware of the other man's proximity - the slight heat of his body, the rustling of his clothes as he moves. It ought to irritate him but instead, somehow, his aching shoulder relaxes a fraction and his hands uncurl against his thighs. It's fine. It must be done.
Of course, the thing that bothers him the most is being pulled from engaging with Senbonzakura in such an untimely, awkward fashion, just for the sake of solving some petty crisis. One ought to trump the other, surely - protection and strength over unimportant grievances that could as well be resolved with appropriate humility. But of course, that's why the military makes sense and politics don't. He shifts a little as the weight of the broken hairpiece disappears, his hair tumbling down past his face as a consequence, loose and nowhere near as clean as when he left the barracks this morning.
In the background, his clothes are being brought in, one layer after the other. His next challenge, once Isamu is done with his hair, will be getting out of his uniform. He'd prefer to do so himself with how bruised he must be underneath - such physical damage feels like a personal affair. Instead, he will content himself with his servants, with Isamu and his gentle approach. Not for the first time, he appreciates the outcome of the other man's conflict within his house; it seems as if he fits in perfectly.
One wonders, perhaps, what he's done for his previous master. Byakuya hasn't taken any interest in it, as he doesn't want to make anyone think he's overly engaged with the affairs of a merchant family. He's thought about it, though, now and then. As he's doing now. Gaze gliding sideways, he observes the other man's movements, his posture. ]
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Isamu, meanwhile, slips into his personal space with calming familiarity. He doesn't ask, merely observes and acts accordingly to what he sees, reaching for the ruined hairpiece. As he begins to disentangle it from Byakuya's hair, he's very aware of the other man's proximity - the slight heat of his body, the rustling of his clothes as he moves. It ought to irritate him but instead, somehow, his aching shoulder relaxes a fraction and his hands uncurl against his thighs. It's fine. It must be done.
Of course, the thing that bothers him the most is being pulled from engaging with Senbonzakura in such an untimely, awkward fashion, just for the sake of solving some petty crisis. One ought to trump the other, surely - protection and strength over unimportant grievances that could as well be resolved with appropriate humility. But of course, that's why the military makes sense and politics don't. He shifts a little as the weight of the broken hairpiece disappears, his hair tumbling down past his face as a consequence, loose and nowhere near as clean as when he left the barracks this morning.
In the background, his clothes are being brought in, one layer after the other. His next challenge, once Isamu is done with his hair, will be getting out of his uniform. He'd prefer to do so himself with how bruised he must be underneath - such physical damage feels like a personal affair. Instead, he will content himself with his servants, with Isamu and his gentle approach. Not for the first time, he appreciates the outcome of the other man's conflict within his house; it seems as if he fits in perfectly.
One wonders, perhaps, what he's done for his previous master. Byakuya hasn't taken any interest in it, as he doesn't want to make anyone think he's overly engaged with the affairs of a merchant family. He's thought about it, though, now and then. As he's doing now. Gaze gliding sideways, he observes the other man's movements, his posture. ]