Bosco fluffy drabble, gen, G

[gilascave]

for monack

Brush

It was kinda embarrassing -- ok, it was damned embarrassing and if anyone ever asked him, he'd lie through his teeth to explain it.

Or maybe he'd just pretend he didn't know anything about it. Claim an old girlfriend must have left it, or something. But who was ever going to see it? Who besides him was ever in his bathroom? And anyone who did find their way back here wasn't going to be poking around and digging through his stuff.

Which pretty much left Faith as the only one who would find it and ask him and not believe him when he made up some bullshit. But that was OK, because she'd probably not even blink when he told her why he had it.

Bosco set his grandmother's old, soft hairbrush back as he finished wiping the counter clean. The handle was fake pearl, or ivory, or something, and the bristle were soft enough to use on a baby's head. The sort of brush only old ladies and pretentious little girls would ever own.

It was the only thing of hers he'd got out of the house when she'd died. He had no idea where the rest of it had got to. His father's mother -- so none of it was at his own mother's house, and if his father had anything, Bosco wouldn't be likely to ever find out.

He touched the bristles, remembering watching her brush her hair and listening to her singing.