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The scissors felt powerful in his hands.
Loki had taken them nonchalantly from the kitchen this morning, without anyone questioning what his plan was with them. He was not sure what his plan was, himself, and mused if he should go through with the idea in his head.
Once the rooms were empty and he was alone, he found himself in front of the mirror. The reflection stared back at him, hair cascading down to just below his shoulders, dark waves twisted together, untamed, unkempt from the fitful night before.
His mother told him to cherish it, he could still remember that. Such a strong feature, she said; such a stark difference to the thinner, blonder strands that dominated the family. He looked- and perhaps was- different, always had been. But his mother had told him to pay no mind to their differences.
He could still remember her smile.
The metal of the scissors felt cool against his hand, and Loki lifted it up, bringing it to his hair, before bringing it back down. This was stupid, impulsive, but he needed to do this, he was unsure why but there was a drive from within that needed to get rid of the long, dark locks he had hid behind for so long. The hair that he was told to be proud of, he reminded himself.
Loki ran a hand through his hair, and then took a strand, weaving it between his fingers, before pulling it to the front so that it hung in front of his face. Dammit, it would grow back, he thought. There was no need to be so dramatic about it.
With a deep breath, he cut off the first lock that was hanging in front of his eyes.
He did not stop there. The sink was littered with the dark patches that fell from his head, contrasting the crisp white of the ceramic. Locks fell down by his feet- it felt like there was so much more of it than he initially thought.
It felt reckless, it felt freeing, it felt colder now that there was nothing covering his neck. It looked as messy as it felt, both the hair in the sink and what still remained on his head. There were bits shorter than others, locks sticking up, sections falling flatter than they ever had, curls that were bouncier than he had ever seen.
He stared himself down in the mirror. The reflection felt warped, he looked less feminine, less youthful- God, he did not look like himself at all. Standing there in a cloud of his own hair, Loki immediately felt a sense of loss, a mourning for the strands that had fallen so pitifully to the ground around him.
Tears stung his eyes, and he cursed his impulsion and his boredom and his anger at himself. There had been nothing wrong with his hair. There had been something wrong with him, something with the creeping feeling that people were watching him, judging him for the way that he kept it, as if he belonged in some play from the turn of the 19th century.
Loki threw the scissors into the sink, the sound dulled by the locks lay there. It was as if he had become self-conscious overnight, over a trait that he had previously been so proud of. Why had he taken the scissors from the kitchen and decided he was better off without it? He had hoped it would make him lighter, and instead, it just caused an emptiness that he had not previously had.
He felt empty, and sat down on the tiles, his back resting against the cool wall. He stayed there for a while, running his hands through the strands that lay on the floor. There was an odd mix of panic and sadness in his chest, and he was not sure whether he wanted to weep or scream and break the mirror that he had so foolishly used.
Somewhere, he could hear the sound of the downstairs door open. There was a patter of feet coming up the stairs, but it was not his brother’s heavy steps. There was the rattle of keys followed by the opening of the front door. A voice greeted the flat- Bruce’s voice- but Loki could not muster a reply.
There were more footsteps, and Loki realised that the bathroom door was ajar, but made no effort to close it. Instead, he sat there, on the ground, fighting the childish sadness and frustration that was welling up inside him without much avail.
The footsteps went from the kitchen to the living room and stopped there for a moment. After a little while, the footsteps continued, walking down the hall in the direction that Loki was hiding. The sound stopped.
‘Uh… Loki…?’
Loki looked up, and met Bruce’s eyes as he looked down at Loki surrounded by the mess he had created.
‘What did you do…?’ asked Bruce hesitantly.
I made a mistake, was Loki’s first thought. I was being foolish. I impulsively cut off my hair, hoping it would make me feel better and now I feel the exact same but balder.
However, pride got in the way of these words tumbling out of his mouth, despite the stinging in his eyes.
‘I…’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
He averted Bruce’s gaze, eyes falling back onto the dark hair around him. Tears filled up Loki’s vision again, and he just felt… stupid. It was all just stupid. He rubbed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tears.
Bruce stepped into the bathroom and reached for the scissors that were still in the sink.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Get up. I’ll fix it.’
Loki looked up at Bruce, a bit confused. ‘Fix it?’
‘Your hair,’ Bruce continued. ‘I’ll clean it up, make it less… wonky.’
Loki grimaced, but pulled himself to his feet. ‘Don’t tell Thor.’
‘He’ll probably figure it out himself when he sees you,’ replied Bruce, and got to work.