There was a sense of grounding when he was close to the other, and while he was not one to often touch, there were times, times like this, that Thranduil took the liberty to do what he could. He was sure this was an affect of the drift, of being so close, of being inside another so completely, that he found himself put at ease by the presence of the other. Even when they were slinging insults and arguing over the simplest of things (he could not, at points, figure out how Bard thought, despite spending so much time in his head). Right now, Thranduil still hand tendrils of annoyance (of fear) snaking through his veins, but they seemed to calm when his hand gripped the other.

He is reluctant to let it fall.

"As long as we are both on the same page. Perhaps once I get you to realize that, we can work on that hair of yours?" It was something that Thranduil liked to tease the other about; the tangled mess of near curls that adorned the other's head. Not that Thranduil disliked it, oh no, he just wished that Bard ran a damn brush through it once in a while.

The smile that had been crawling slowly across the blonds face falters at the honest words. He did not expect his own honesty to be met with such words. Thranduil leans over until his shoulder is against Bard's in a sign of camaraderie that was strange for him, surely if another were to see it they would question it. He keeps his eyes forward, much like Bard's on the jaeger.

"I know. I do, but do you not think of how I would feel if something were to happen to you, and your ridiculous hair, because of me?" The jab is weak, thrown in for the sake of it being there rather than for any other effect. Thranduil is in strange waters here, waters that he has been testing since he had been paired with the stubborn, talented pilot all those months ago.