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It was nothing new to find Yamada Hizashi humming through the apartment halls, house keys twirling round his index finger, beaming from a satisfactory end to a long day’s work. But anyone who caught him that evening would find the man with a happiness overload: Slick boots shuffling down the hall in a chipper dance, keys jingling to the beat between newly-polished nails, golden locks flapping as humming melted into scatting, scatting into smile-laced song. He was bordering on too loud, but just this once, he was allowing himself to be selfish.
It was date night. So let ‘em hear.
He reached his apartment door with one last wiggle of his hips, slipping the key into the lock as his lyrics morphed to a melodic crooning for his husband.
“Shouta, Shouta, Shouuuuuuu—oh!”
A cringing Hitoshi motioned for quiet from his seat at Eri’s tea party, but Hizashi could already see Shouta rising from his spot on the couch, tired eyes blinking from behind his rat’s nest of hair. He stretched with a quiet groan, spine popping like bubble wrap.
“I didn’t forget,” Shouta said groggily as Hizashi opened his mouth. “Movie’s at 8:30, figured I could squeeze in a nap before you got home.”
“Well, enough squeezin’!” Hizashi tossed his keys on the entry table, bounding over to the couch. “You still have to get ready, after all!”
“I am ready.”
Hizashi scoffed lightly, eyes scanning the disheveled man sprawled across their couch: His pants looked like just a bunch of wrinkles stitched together, his shirt mottled with stains from a rogue jelly pouch or two. His five o’clock shadow had raged long past five o’clock, and the exhausted look on the man’s face showed no motivation to clean it up anytime soon.
This was beyond his usual “Eraserhead” scruffiness. Hizashi knew this look, and it wasn’t one of a man doing well.
With a thoughtful sigh, Hizashi draped his arms around the back of his husband’s neck, shiny canary strands mingling with harsh raven curls. He buried his nose in Shouta’s locks, the oily musk of sweat hitting him hard, and Hizashi pulled back with a frown, stiff frizz still tickling at his nose.
“Shouta…when’s the last time you washed your hair?”
“A gajillion years ago…” Eri said quietly, jumping at Hitoshi’s sharp burst of laughter. “What? We always tell the truth, right, Papa?”
“Right-o, kiddi-o,” Hizashi said, brushing a clump of hair behind his husband’s ear. “And a gajillion’s a lotta years, Shou.”
“There’s no way she can conclude that,” Shouta said. “Not with rational evidence, anyway.”
“Eh, she’s more observant than you think,” Hitoshi said. “Probably noticed you have no shampoo in your shower, and you sure as hell—”
“Language,” Shouta snaps.
“—Helvetica. Was gonna say Helvetica. Like the font.”
“Sure you were.”
“But yeah, you sure don’t use Papa’s,” Hitoshi continued, propping up a slumping plush moose, “'cause you don’t come out of the shower smelling like a fruit salad.”
“Hold up,” Hizashi’s head perked up slightly, “you think I smell like a fruit salad?”
“I like it!” Eri said, Hitoshi offering a shrug as she poured him a cup of invisible chai.
“May I ask what you were doing in our bathroom?” Shouta said.
“Stuff,” Hitoshi said vaguely, though Shouta’s narrowed eyes threatened out further elaboration. “Left the ibuprofen in there.”
“And what did you need ibuprofen for?” Shouta pressed. He was derailing, and Hizashi knew it. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, needed some after training. Don’t change the subject.”
“I got it, Hitoshi,” Hizashi motioned gently for quiet, turning back to his unkempt husband. “But that’s real uncool, I didn’t even notice you were outta shampoo! Why didn’t you tell me, man? Coulda added it to the shopping list.”
“I have the bar of soap,” Shouta said.
“Shouta, that’s body wash!”
“Soap is soap.”
“Soap is n—Okay, alright,” Hizashi stood up tall, sweeping his own hair back before cringing at the grease likely transferring from his hands. "Come on, come with me.”
The tired eyes looked away. “We’re going to be late for the movie.”
“Shouta.”
Hizashi held out a hand, patiently waiting for a response. Shouta’s eyes drifted back to him, and with a sigh, the man’s worn hand found his own.
Hizashi helped him from the couch with a grunt, and still gripping his hand, led Shouta to their shared bedroom. “We’ll be back in two shakes!” he called to the kids and their committee of stuffed toys.
“Gross,” Hitoshi responded.
“What’s gross?” Eri asked. “What are they doing?”
“Kissing.”
“Gross,” Eri echoed, though her tone was robotic enough that it earned a small chuckle from Hizashi before he shut the door.
Shouta’s sigh mingled with the squeak of their bathroom door as Hizashi led them both inside, flipping the lights on and dimming them slightly. The soft glow draped across the quarry of hair products by the sink, gels and sprays of sapphire, topaz, jade. Hizashi rifled through them for a second before a memory came to him, and he knelt to scour the cabinet below the sink.
“You all are making way too big of a deal out of this,” Shouta persisted.
“You gotta take care of yourself, Shou-Shou,” Hizashi said, unearthing an oblong amethyst bottle. This was the one. Nearly full, clean-capped, plastic not yet gummy with residual soap. Satisfied, Hizashi rose to his feet.
“I take fine care of myself,” Shouta said. “I eat, I sleep—”
A chuckle from Hizashi. “You sure do.”
“—I patch wounds as needed, and I bathe.”
Hizashi slid open the shower door with a tiny rattle, setting the bottle on the shelf and twisting the knob to summon the warm water. Showerhead hissing behind him, he turned back to his husband.
“It’s just…” he sighed, slipping his hands in his back pockets, “…your hair, Shouta.”
“It’s just going to get dirty again. It’s illogical to fuss over it so much.”
“Whaaaat? So rude,” Hizashi gave a melodramatic pout, which broke into a smile as he wrapped his arms around Shouta’s waist. Bet you can’t say that to my face.”
“It’s illogical to fuss over it so much.”
Forehead to forehead now, Hizashi’s playful grin crinkling his nose. “Say it five times fast.”
“I’m not doing that,” Shouta countered, but Hizashi’s lips were already squished against Shouta’s nose, his eyes, everywhere they could reach. “I’m not—you—” Shouta’s words melted into that quiet laugh Hizashi knew so well, that hesitant breath of a chuckle that always made Hizashi’s heart sing,
“Knew I could get a giggle outta you,” Hizashi smiled. With one last peck on the lips, he pulled back with a commanding point towards the shower. “Now…clothes! Off!”
Shouta grunted in protest, but reluctantly complied, easing off the stained shirt as he kicked his boots to the floor. Hizashi let out a sigh of relief, then set to shrugging off his own jacket, tossing it in the hamper as his shirt, socks, and pants followed.
Hizashi was kicking off the boxers snagged around his ankles when a now-bare Shouta finally looked his way, rubbing his jaw.
“As…” he let out a hesitant breath, eyes drifting along his husband’s body, “…tempting as this is, I’m not exactly in the mood.”
“What? No, no, it’s not about that, man,” Hizashi shook his head, sliding open the shower door slightly. “Just…trust me, okay?”
Batting a stray wisp of hair from his shoulder, Shouta sighed, stepping under the stream of water. Hizashi followed, shutting the already fogged-up shower door behind him.
Shouta got to work lazily wetting his hair, and Hizashi reached for the purple bottle, pausing sharply as he flipped open the lid.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he stammered, awkwardly stumbling from the shower in sopping footsteps across the tile. “Crap, forgot the conditioner.”
“Are you dripping all over the floor?” Shouta’s voice echoed as Hizashi plucked the bottle from underneath the sink.
“Of course not!” Hizashi said, dripping all over the floor.
The thin man strode back into the shower, sliding the door shut and returning to the open bottle.
“Is this really worth flooding our bathroom for?” Shouta asked, scratching his collarbone.
“’Course it is,” Hizashi smiled. “You’re worth it!”
Shouta’s sigh wiped the smile from Hizashi’s face, and the blond man pulled in a silent inhale, eyes tracing the beautiful body in front of him. Skin laced with ribbons of scars, twirling across age-worn muscle and the strong wings of his shoulder blades, too exhausted to take flight. Shouta twisted his head slightly to shake some water from his ear, giving Hizashi a glimpse of the salt and pepper curls stippled across his chest, the soft brushstroke of scarring beneath those tired, tired eyes.
Of course he was worth it. He was worth everything.
Hizashi squeezed a gob of shampoo into his hand, the liquid cool against his palm, and set the bottle back on the shelf.
“The shampoo you use is too strong for me, ‘Zashi,” Shouta said, turning back to face the wall.
“I know, bud.”
“Works well on you, but—”
“Shh, shh.” He slipped his fingers into the raven mess. “I know.”
The broad shoulders settled as Hizashi wove his fingers into Shouta’s hair, cool gel spreading across the tangle of black. He began at the base of his husband’s skull, massaging his thumbs gently against the stress-tensed muscles, and worked his way up Shouta’s head. Polished nails scratched gently across Shouta’s scalp as the shampoo blossomed into suds.
“I didn’t want you havin’ to crane your head over the sink, y’know?” Hizashi said quietly. “Last thing you need is a crick in your neck on top’f everything else you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not dealing with anything,” Shouta mumbled, rolling his shoulders as the relaxation traveled along the curves of his back. “Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway.”
“A pro’s ‘ordinary’ can be Stress Express, babe,” Hizashi said. “We both know that.”
Hizashi scratched lightly behind Shouta’s ears, scrubbing a gentle crown back and forth along the curve of his head.
“That feel good?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Shouta sighed, and Hizashi gave a soft smile, massaging the pads of his fingers into Shouta’s temples.
Shouta breathed in deep, head lolling back as he shut his eyes. “What is that?”
“The shampoo?”
“Yeah. That’s not what you usually use.”
“Lavender and chamomile,” Hizashi said, the gentle scent already filling the air. He’d bought the bottle some time ago after hearing it was good aromatherapy for sleep, but hadn’t gotten around to using it more than once. But compared to the “fruit salad” scent of his standard shampoo, he knew this was a significantly tamer flavor. Perfect for Shouta, and therefore, perfect for them both.
One hand still in Shouta’s hair, Hizashi reached up and eased down the showerhead, brushing the tangles with his fingers as he washed the shampoo from each layer of hair. Both were silent as the suds climbed down Shouta’s body, pooling at their feet, Shouta’s quiet breath rising and falling with his frame.
“You shouldn’t have to do this,” Shouta finally spoke.
“Hey, I’m not doing it 'cause I have to,” Hizashi said, reattaching the showerhead and reaching for the conditioner. “I’m—"
“You’re doing it because you want to, I know, I know,” Shouta glanced back as Hizashi squeezed a liberal heap of conditioner into his palm. “Except we both know that doesn’t make any sense.”
Hizashi looked up. “What do you mean?”
“This wouldn’t even be happening if I just had clean hair,” Shouta said, staring at the ground. “So, you’re doing it. You’re having to do it.”
Hizashi frowned slightly, squishing the conditioner between his fingers before working it into Shouta’s locks. The two fell into silence again as Hizashi carefully mapped his husband’s scalp, careful not to scrub too hard on the sensitive areas: The nick from a blade-quirked thief three weeks ago, a scar from meeting a brick wall on patrol two days before their wedding, the bump from a high school slip on icy pavement that never quite went away.
“Well…” said Hizashi, “would you do the same for me?”
“Of course I would,” Shouta scoffed, letting his head tilt back again, “but that’s different.”
“How so?”
“You’d never put me in this position.”
Hizashi snorted. Him as the low-maintenance one? That was laughable. Though perhaps Shouta was right regarding the specifics, he’d never let his hair get to this state if he could help it. But it wasn’t about the hair, it was never about the hair, and Hizashi wished more than anything that Shouta could see himself through his eyes, an absolute masterpiece of a man literally at his fingertips…
“Hey,” Hizashi said gently. “Who’s the one who started buying me those lozenges, huh? That tricked-out brand that works super well but you can only get ‘em in that one Esuha Market store? You full-on cross provinces for me just so I don’t tear up my throat. Do you do that because you have to?”
Shouta said nothing, eyes glued to the conditioner swirling away down the drain.
“Or when we find a spider in the house,” Hizashi shuddered automatically at the thought, but pressed on. “You know it’ll make me wig out, but it’ll also bug Eri if you kill it—er, no pun intended. So, what do you do? Y’put it in a cup—brave man that you are—you take it downstairs, and release it all the way across the block to make us both happy. Do you do that because you have to?”
Still silence. With a sad smile, Hizashi slipped his hands from his hair and hugged Shouta from behind, palms against the soft fuzz on his chest, pulling his husband close. He pressed his mouth to Shouta’s shoulder, ignoring the soapy taste as he brushed a kiss against the skin, Shouta’s hands finding his and gripping them tight. It took Hizashi a second before he caught himself swaying; but before he could stop, Shouta mirrored in the absentminded motion, the two of them silently dancing beneath the sprinkle of water overhead.
“I love you, Shou,” Hizashi murmured, cherishing the intimacy of skin against skin. “And I know you love me. And when people love each other, that’s what they do, y’know? They take care of each other. And not 'cause they have to.” A soft kiss against the shell of Shouta’s ear. “Never 'cause I have to.”
Hizashi spotted the grateful smile peeking at his husband’s lips, and it was enough. He pulled back, returning to the thorough wash, making sure every layer of Shouta’s hair was meticulously coated in conditioner. The rest of the shower was near-wordless—nothing but the occasional check-in from Hizashi—but as he scratched along Shouta’s ears one last time, and his husband tilted back his head with goosebumps pricking at his water-kissed skin, Shouta’s hum of satisfaction was worth a thousand words.
A brisk scrub of Shouta’s body to finish, and the duo emerged from the shower, Hizashi quickly wrapping his husband in the fluffiest towel he could find. A towel at his own waist, he finished Shouta’s hair with a bit of Moroccan oil, combing the serum through until he was certain he’d hydrated it all. With a kiss on the crown of Shouta’s head—and a comedically regretful rub of his own oil-twinged mouth—he gestured to the mirror with a flourish, a clean-haired Shouta on display for all the world to see.
“Looks nice,” Shouta said, pinching one of the ends thoughtfully. “Still wet, though.”
“Well, we’re gonna blow-dry it, of course,” Hizashi chuckled, but without warning, Shouta’s face fell, and he rocketed from his seat, rushing into their bedroom. “Wait, wait, what’s wrong, man?!”
Hizashi raced after his husband, only to find him staring despondently at the digital clock on their nightstand. A sigh, rough fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I made us miss movie night,” he said flatly.
Hizashi felt his body relax, relieved it wasn’t something more drastic, and he crossed the room with a tender smile, sitting gently on the edge of the bed.
“We own movies, y’know,” he said.
“You wanted to see this one.”
“I wanted to see a movie with you,” Hizashi nudged his leg with a playful foot. “Doesn’t matter what movie it is.”
“So, you’re telling me you’d sit through those fifty-or-so Doraemon movies that Eri’s been playing on repeat, as long as it’s with me.”
“Hey, Doraemon’s rad!” Hizashi laughed, quickly cowering into a cringe. “But yeah, okay, anything but those, have mercy!”
Hizashi’s heart fluttered as Shouta breathed another one of those quiet chuckles, fingers thoughtfully twirling at his hair. The sight alone was better than any date night a movie theater had to offer: Those grey eyes looking a little less tired, calloused fingers conducting a quiet melody through the strands of his hair. It was beautiful. Shouta was beautiful.
Hizashi stood with a warm smile, walking over and hugging Shouta’s arm fondly. The last few droplets of warm water kissed his chest, and it was Shouta who offered a kiss this time, lips pressed gently to Hizashi’s temple, stubble brushing against his skin with that familiar prickle. No matter what his husband thought, Hizashi would choose this over anything else.
Eyes shut tight, Hizashi breathed in deep.
Lavender and chamomile. He’d never smelled anything sweeter.