If he were to ever have tangles it would be a time like now. Much as he might like to say he did not thrash or cry or any other such indignity under the scalding pain of the ritual it would be a lie. A lie he will certainly tell others but Claude is well aware that he was not still, did not bear it so stoically as he might later claim. And in all of that squirming any mussing of his hair he would not have been able to correct after because he was absolutely not shifting his shoulders that much.

Perhaps, as Claude's fingers glide through his hair, he does let himself relax into it a bit. But the words and, more than that, Claude's expression do make him blush. It feels strange, somehow. Simply acknowledging that he enjoys something so simple. There's nothing to be gained from it, no reason to indulge in it. The silence that follows the little teasing is oddly weighted and pensive.

"I do." Barely more than a whisper, gaze flicking from staring blindly ahead to meet Claude's. Uncertain in a way that he should not be over something so mundane. "Perhaps-"

He frowns at himself, starts to shake his head ever so slightly but stills so as to not disrupt Claude's work. No. He doesn't have to apologize or follow it up with something dismissive or shameful. No more than I should. There is no should about it.