❃ Mussing their hair or tugging at their clothes (a hat, sleeve, etc.)
As a professor of music, Kim Sewon was expected to maintain a certain degree of professionalism. This included the correct attire; a suit more often than not, down to a crisp nd clean shirt during the summer, or a soft sweater during the cooler months. He often styled his hair up to reflect this, wore glasses when he knew he would be staring at scores all day. His saarantras had degraded somewhat over the tears. Sewon supposed it was to be expected. Many saar did not stay in their human forms for consistent periods of time. If it were not for that fact that Sewon, much to the disgust of most other dragons, had grown to prefer this form, he would make a point to travel away to spread his wings, so to speak. But that would require leaving Nayoung, his students and now… his friends. Besides, the were certain traits that his draconic form lacked that he would not be without. For one, the appreciation of the music he had built his life around, and the emotions he linked it to. For another, he could not put so much detail into how he presented himself.
Today, for example, despite having a rare day off, he had put a lot of decision behind his clothes. A pale blue sweater, a dark fitted jacket over his shoulders, the sleeves pulled a slight way up his arm. The only abnormality could be found in his unstyled hair, lying loosely across his forehead and slightly ruffled from the unforgiving wind outside.
It was inevitable that he should bump into Wheein like this. Wheein, who seemed to fly around until she found a suitable perch and would chirp away at the person she had come to visit. His personality should dictate that he would be irritated by this. Sewon, on most days, found this quite therapeutic. Like his niece, she was his antithesis. On days they did not happen to meet, Sewon found himself hankering after more sound.
She noticed his hair of course. How could she not when the wind caught it and flicked it up in a spectacular fashion. Sewon glowered at the invisible force as though he had a personal grudge against it. He felt her looking at him as they walked along the pavement, pace brisk but not rushed. “Does it really look so atrocious?” he asked in exasperation.
Whether she responded positively of not, Sewon could not deduce; her arms extended upwards before he could figure anything out (he was still slow on the subtleties of expression) and then she ruffled his hair. It fell about easily, quite soft. What on earth did she think she was doing? Sewon made an indignant noise before making a grab for her wrists and missing entirely. She was shorter than him by a good amount, how had she–
“People are looking at us,” he remarked, but he sighed anyway. There was no escaping her. At the very least, when she was done, he turned to give her hair the same treatment, flipping a few strands the wrong way across her face so that she couldn’t see. As served her right.