The first time Mulciber pushes Severus’s hair out of his face, it’s almost an accident.
They’re sixteen, sitting in the common room, half-heartedly pretending to do homework. It’s late, most of the dorms empty, the fire in the hearth flickering low.
Severus, predictably, has his nose buried in a book, long fingers resting against his temple. His hair—thick, straight, and perpetually falling forward—curtains his face completely.
Mulciber isn’t sure why it annoys him. Maybe it’s because Severus keeps tucking it behind his ear only for it to slip forward again. Maybe it’s because Mulciber is trying to talk to him, but he can’t see his face. Maybe it’s because—
Without thinking, Mulciber reaches forward and brushes it back, fingers ghosting against Severus’s cheek.
Severus stills.
Mulciber expects him to slap his hand away, snap at him for touching him without warning.
Instead, Severus blinks up at him, something unreadable in his dark eyes.
“You were fidgeting,” Mulciber mutters, already looking back down at his parchment, pretending like it didn’t just happen.
Severus doesn’t respond.
But he doesn’t pull away, either.
—
It keeps happening.
Mulciber doesn’t think about it at first.
Severus always has his hair in his face. Always brushing it away, always scowling when it refuses to stay put. It’s irritating, watching him struggle with it when the solution is right there.
So Mulciber does it for him.
A lazy flick of his fingers when Severus is hunched over his cauldron in the dungeons, steam rising in thick, curling tendrils.
A firm push when they’re walking beside each other, Severus mid-rant about some ridiculous Slytherin drama.
A casual sweep when Severus falls asleep with a book half-open on his chest, hair sprawled across his face, lips parted slightly.
It becomes habit, second nature.
Severus never tells him to stop.
—
One afternoon, Mulciber finds Severus sitting in the library, deep in study. His hair is—predictably—a mess, spilling across the table as he leans forward.
Mulciber clicks his tongue. “You ever think about tying it back?”
Severus exhales sharply, barely looking up. “What do you think?”
Mulciber smirks. “That you’re a stubborn bastard who likes suffering.”
Severus doesn’t argue.
But later that night, when they’re in the dormitory, Mulciber catches him fiddling with a bit of ribbon, scowling at his reflection in the mirror.
Mulciber watches from his bed, amused. “You need help?”
Severus glares at him. “No.”
The ribbon slips from his fingers.
Mulciber snorts. “You definitely need help.”
Severus exhales through his nose but doesn’t stop him when Mulciber gets up, moves behind him, and takes the ribbon from his hands.
Mulciber gathers the dark strands with ease, fingers threading through silk-soft hair, pulling it back into a loose, neat tie.
“Better?” he murmurs.
Severus looks at himself, tilting his head slightly.
He doesn’t answer.
But he doesn’t take it out, either.
—
It becomes a ritual.
Mulciber doesn’t remember when it stops being occasional and starts being constant.
But somehow, it’s always him fixing Severus’s hair.
In the mornings, when Severus is half-asleep, sitting on the edge of his bed, letting Mulciber pull his hair back with an absent, practiced ease.
In the evenings, when they’re both studying, and Severus is too deep in concentration to notice how it falls into his eyes—until Mulciber reaches over and tucks it behind his ear.
Before duels. Before Quidditch matches. Before anything that requires focus.
Mulciber’s hands are always there.
Severus never stops him.
—
One night, long after curfew, they sit in their dormitory, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire in the common room below.
Severus is tired.
Mulciber can see it in the way his shoulders slope forward, the way his fingers press against his temple, like his mind is too heavy.
Without thinking, Mulciber moves behind him, fingers slipping into the mess of his hair.
Severus tenses—just for a second—then relaxes as Mulciber works his fingers through the knots, slow and steady.
Mulciber has never thought much about it before, but—Merlin—Severus’s hair is soft.
It’s strange, the way it feels against his skin, the way it slides through his fingers.
Severus sighs, long and slow, tilting his head slightly into the touch.
Mulciber’s fingers pause.
Severus stills.
The air shifts between them.
Mulciber swallows. He should stop. He should step back. But he doesn’t.
He presses his fingers against Severus’s scalp, massaging lightly, and Severus exhales—quiet, barely there, but unmistakably pleased.
Mulciber smirks. “Didn’t take you for the type who liked this.”
Severus huffs. “Shut up.”
Mulciber doesn’t.
But he does keep running his fingers through Severus’s hair, slow and careful, until the tension in Severus’s body melts away completely.
He doesn’t say anything when Severus leans back against him slightly, head tilted, lashes low.
He just keeps going.
—
The first time they kiss, it happens like this:
Severus is half-asleep, Mulciber’s fingers still tangled in his hair.
Mulciber isn’t sure who moves first—maybe Severus, maybe him—but suddenly, their faces are close.
Mulciber watches as Severus blinks, dark eyes meeting his. He’s soft in the dim light, shadows stretching long across the room, his hair loose and falling over his shoulders.
Mulciber lifts a hand, brushes Severus’s fringe from his eyes.
Severus swallows.
Mulciber hesitates.
Then—slowly, deliberately—Severus leans in.
The kiss is soft, barely there, just the press of lips and the faint taste of something Mulciber can’t quite place.
Severus exhales against his mouth.
Mulciber lets his fingers slide through Severus’s hair one last time before cupping the back of his neck and pulling him closer.
It’s slow. It’s careful.
It’s them.
—
The next morning, Mulciber wakes up first.
Severus is still asleep, his hair loose and messy, spilling over his pillow.
Mulciber reaches out, absently brushing a few strands from his face.
Severus stirs slightly, making a small, tired noise before sinking back into sleep.
Mulciber watches him for a moment, then smirks.
Yeah.
This is a habit he’s never going to break.