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He wants to muss her. Just a bit. Draw his fingers through her hair like Serenity through clouds, leaving a billow of soft brown behind. He wants to smudge that gloss, that red, red gloss he can see with his eyes closed in the dark of his bunk in the most remote edge of space. She doesn’t fit in the rough and tumble confines of Serenity, so perfectly composed, perfectly presented with her smooth dress, smooth walk, smooth words. From the first moment she stepped aboard, she stuck out like the most beautiful polished thumb in the damn galaxy, and his hands just itched to muss her.