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“I’m home!”.
The door opened with a subtle creak; smiling, Daigo walked into the lobby and looked around him. The familiar light of the sun coming from the large windows over the balcony welcomed him with its warm embrace, caressing his cheeks as he looked up, awaiting for a tiny figure to jump out of the shadows and run to him to be picked up in his arms.
Standing by the entrance, he waited for a reply; however, only the usual quietness of the Senguuji family’s mansion returned his call.
“Come out Yamato, daddy wants to see your cute little face”, he spoke in a firm, yet affectionate voice.
Again, no sound was heard other than the echo of his own voice resonating in the halls. He raised an eyebrow: was it another of his son’s pranks?
“…hello? Anybody there?”.
After being given the third silent treatment, Daigo was starting to lose his patience.
“Yamato, daddy is tired. It’s not the right time to play hide and seek!”.
Silence.
Daigo had no other choice than giving up: rolling his eyes, the man moved to the living room. “All right, maybe he’s just asleep…”.
He took a deep breath and sat on the big, comfy armchair by the window, leaving his briefcase on a table where a vase of pretty flowers stood.
White peonies, his favourite. Just a week before, Yamato had seen them in the neighbour’s shrubbery during a walk; a few days later, unsupervised, he had climbed over the wooden fence separating the garden from the street to pick them up (to that day he still couldn’t grasp how such a small boy could have climbed up an obstacle that tall) , and only his father’s intervention had saved him from the wrath of the gardener chasing after him with a rake in his hands.
Daigo still laughed to himself at the thought of that kid speeding off a country road, screaming like an eagle as he struggled not to crush the flowers’ delicate stems whilst he clutched them tight to his chest.
Of course, he knew Yamato wasn’t a rascal: he was just a bit…excessive in showing his love to him.
Resting his head against the back of the lounger, he took a magazine from under his seat; it was then that he noticed a faint noise coming from over his head.
He froze: it sounded like…cutting?
“What…”.
Daigo left the magazine on his chair, almost throwing it, before he rushed up the stairs; and when he opened the door of the small bathroom over the living room, his mouth fell agape with shock.
“YAMATO! What in the world are you doing?!”.
His father’s scream startled the little boy, who immediately faced away from the sink to stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights; as he did so, the sharp scissors he was holding dropped from his hand, falling on the floor with a clank.
“I told you not to play with those things! You know you can get hurt, right?” Daigo yelled again, picking up the metallic object from the ground. Just then, he noticed the strands of hair lying on the bathroom carpet.
Pink hair. Just like theirs.
Puzzled, he looked up at the boy, then back down at the floor.
“…Yamato? What’s this?”.
The child bit his lip, red in the face; he didn’t have the courage to respond to his father’s inquisitive gaze.
“Sorry, dad…” he stuttered, trying to fight back the tears pushing from inside his eyelids.
Daigo groaned and put a palm to his face. “Look at this mess… you’re lucky I caught you on time, or you would have cut all the way through!”.
“I-I’m sorry…I just wanted to…”.
The kid’s voice broke in a whimper.
“…I-I just wanted to look as cool as you!”
The man’s eyes widened.
“As…as me?”.
Yamato looked up at him with his wide, glossy blue eyes.
“Nonononono, don’t cry!”. Daigo hurried up to his son, squeezing him in a hug: instinctively, Yamato laid his head on his father’s shoulder and girded his neck with his arms.
“It’s ok, honey, it’s ok…”. He laid a tender kiss on the kid’s forehead.
“Are you mad at me?”. Yamato sniffled.
“No, of course not! Daddy’s not mad at you, sweetie…but you gave me a really big scare”. As he patted his head, he sighed and held out some strands of clumsily cut hair.
“Listen, I can’t let you walk around the house with a half haircut. Even if do you look kind of funny-”. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, to which Yamato answered with a reassured look.
“What do you say I help you finish, hm?”.
Hearing those words, the boy’s face lit up.
“Really?!”, he exclaimed.
Daigo smiled. “If that makes you happy…”.
Yamato’s grin couldn’t have been wider: he sprung up like a bunny, his tears completely wiped away by a fit of overjoyed giggles.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!!”. Daigo laughed in return, and affectionately ruffled his son’s hair.
“Calm down, little mister. I can’t give you a good haircut if you keep squirming…be patient and let me go get my stuff, okay?”.
Yamato nodded.
“In the meantime, take off your clothes and get in the tub. We want your hair to be all shiny and pretty, don’t we?”.
***
The faint sound of the water running and a man’s singing interrupted the silence in the mansion’s air.
Sitting in the bath, Yamato let his father’s hands carefully scrub all over his scalp, making sure that the soap were soaking through the child’s hair; from time to time, he could feel a comb gently detangle all the tiny kinks that sometimes formed over his nape and that he constantly forgot to groom in the morning, much to Daigo’s disappointment when he had to pull hard to get the knots out of his son’s “lion mane”, as he liked to call it.
“Put your head back, or it will get in your eyes”, a sweet voice whispered from above him. Obedient, Yamato did as Daigo wanted: for some moments he just sat in silence, letting his father’s humming soothe him as the warm jet of water gushing over his forehead sent relaxed chills down his spine.
“Ok, we’re done with the washing”. Holding on to his hand, Daigo helped the kid get out of the bathtub.
“Now, up to the fun part”.
He wrapped a large towel around his body, like a caterpillar’s cocoon: with his hair still wet, the man sat his son down on a stool in front of the bathroom’s mirror.
Yamato chuckled at the sight of the damp strands falling all around his face. “I look like that thing our maid uses to wash the floors!” he giggled, getting a short laugh out of Daigo too.
“Yeah, you do!”. He kneeled down, laying his hand on the kid’s back. “But you look cute, even when your hair is all soggy like this”.
In their reflection, Daigo saw his son’s cheeks blush. He snickered in silence as he began combing the many plies back into place, one after the other, spreading them in an even folding fan-like formation; next, rummaging in his velvet pouch, he got out a pair of thin scissors and got back to work.
Chunks of wispy pink hair started falling down as Daigo worked his way along the sides of Yamato’s head; now and then, he would check that the length was perfectly equal in both parts, before he kept meticulously trimming the various sections. Yet, he didn’t dare touching the long hair going down his son’s back: a couple of inches would have been more than enough.
“Very good, baby. Stay still…”.
The man ran his brush through Yamato’s locks to get rid of any loose hairs. Then, he reached for his bag and took out a small can, which he sprayed all over the child’s head; the smell of musk penetrating his nostrils made Yamato cough a bit.
“Whoops, sorry”.
For the following minutes, he spent time carefully wiping and drying his son’s hair, always paying attention not to burn it with the hot flat iron as he straightened it. “…And there you go, we’re almost halfway done!” he said in a joyful tone.
The kid, on the contrary, didn’t seem to be particularly convinced: he stared at his reflection, pouting.
“But I don’t look like you, daddy…”.
“Not yet”. Daigo grabbed the pouch again and held up a vial of thick, clear liquid. “This right here is my little secret…well, our little secret from now on”.
“What is that?”. Seeing the mysterious object in his father’s hand stimulated Yamato’s curiosity.
“It’s called a hair gel. It’s what dad uses to keep his hair all tidy and firm”. He squeezed it, getting a squirt of lotion on his palm. “Want to touch it?”.
Indecisive, the child poked at the dollop with the tip of his finger.
“Ew, it’s all mushy”.
“Yeah, you’re right. But I bet it will work super good, you’ll see”.
Yamato answered with a small nod and turned around, letting Daigo bend down to put his hands in his hair.
The boy closed his eyes, as his scalp tingled under his father’s fingertips: snickering, he tried to lay his head back on Daigo’s stomach, only to be gently pushed away.
He sat still, a serene smile on his lips: he loved to hear that voice above his head sing under its breath in a tongue he didn’t know, while the big hands in his hair styled, shaped and played with the silky strands. Every time Daigo’s long fingers drew lines on the centre of his scalp, pulling back the bangs falling on his forehead, little goosebumps raced down Yamato’s neck: it was almost like being tickled, but it felt even better…
He chilled in the funny sensation floating in his brain: how good could it have been, if he and his daddy could have just stayed like that forever?
“Ok precious, we’re done”. His father’s cheerful voice distracted him from his reveries.
“Whaaaat? It’s over already?!”.
Daigo smiled patient at his son’s sulking face. “I know… it has been so much fun, hasn’t it?”.
He kneeled on the floor, directing Yamato’s face towards the mirror. “You can look now”.
When he saw what was reflected in front of him, the child’s mouth fell open.
His unruly hair was now perfectly arranged in a neat, elegant hairdo, just like Daigo’s; however, the short spikes coming out from behind his ears and the wispy strands falling on his shoulders still gave it a vivacious, almost breezy feel. Yamato felt as if a miniature version of his father were staring back at him from beyond the glass with wide, sparkly eyes.
“You like that?”.
The boy didn’t talk back; instead, he let the strength of his little arms wrapped around Daigo’s neck in a hug speak for themselves.
“Yes! Yes, I do!” he exclaimed, repeatedly shifting his gaze from the mirror to his father’s face. Daigo’s lips curled up in a beam as he held him in his arms, still cocooned in the cosy white towel. Wriggling out of his embrace, Yamato laid a small kiss on his father’s cheek.
“I love you, daddy”.
“Me too”. Daigo jokingly booped Yamato’s nose, getting a cheery giggle out of him.
“But next time ask me before you do anything to your hair, ok?”.
The two sat together on the bathroom floor, looking at each other with tired but happy eyes.
“And remember: no matter how you look, you’ll always be my baby boy”.
“Mh-hm”. Yamato nuzzled against his father’s chest, his ear tended to the man’s quiet heartbeat; cooing, Daigo held him close. The sweater he had changed into was now soaked in water, gel and hairspray, but he couldn’t care less: seeing the joy in his kid’s face after such an intense day was the best reward in the world.
“Now put on your clothes, ok? I’ll go downstairs to make dinner, I’m calling you when everything is ready”.
“Okie dokie~”.
As Yamato changed into his shirt and pants, Daigo walked up to the bathroom door: but before he opened it, he was interrupted by a childish voice.
“Oh, I forgot…”.
“Yes?”. Yamato shyly lowered his gaze.
“…thank you, daddy”.
“Aw… of nothing, sweetie”.
Walking down the stairs, Daigo chuckled.
First the peonies, now a haircut…maybe, Yamato deserved a thanks too: after all, how boring would have his days been without him?