She does. It's a little embarrassing, maybe, how much she craves the simple, soft things, even if she never acts on it. Even if when she chooses to ask, it's usually for something that could be cast as practical.

Could be, but isn't. "Mmhmm," she hums, leading him to the couch, glancing at the kitten, before she's reaching to pull her pack over from where she dropped it. There's a comb in the front pocket, always. She pulls it out as she folds down to sit on the floor.

"I'm going to have to cut it again soon, but I wanted to enjoy it long for a bit first."