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It’s a Wednesday morning, and you’re finishing up washing the dishes from breakfast when Annie comes back into the kitchen. She leans in the frame of the archway with a hand on her hips. You turn around to face her as you dry your plate off with a towel.
“I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair lately,” she tells you.
You flip the plate to dry the other side. “Yeah? How short do you want it?”
Annie twirls a strand around her finger. At this point, it’s grown a few inches past her collarbone, and it’s easily the longest you’ve ever seen it. She considers the hair for a moment, lets it fall over her shoulder again.
“I actually like how long it is now,” she says, “I just want to give myself bangs again.”
Setting the plate down on the drying rack, you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “Again? Wait, when did you have bangs?”
Annie looks taken aback. “I had them when we first met!” she insists, but then tilts her head to the side in thought, “or maybe they had grown a little grown out by that point.”
You stifle a laugh and shake your head. “They were long by the time we met. You should have kept cutting them though. That hairstyle would’ve looked good.”
Annie shrugs. She pulls one of the chairs out from the dining table and sits down facing you.
“What, did you hate them as a kid or something?” you ask. You reach back into the sink to dry the plate that Annie had used.
She shakes her head. “It’s not that. Neither me or my dad really knew what to do with my hair. I got lazy with it,” she says, and stifles a snort of a giggle, “Sometimes it would get so tangled that he would just cut pieces out. I cut it myself a few times too, but it was always a disaster.”
You chuckle darkly. “Oh, no… Well, it probably wasn’t that bad,” you lie. You put the second plate next to the first and start to dry off your hands with the towel.
“No, it definitely looked like shit…” Annie laughs, “But he really did do his best to try and fix it. He always cared in little ways like that.”
“Aww, Papa…” you squeal as love swells in your heart. You clutch your chest. “That is so sweet.”
Annie rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway and nods. You pull another chair up next to her, and toss the towel on the counter before you sit.
“So your dad was the one who cut your bangs?” you ask.
She nods. “Yeah. I tried myself the first time and he made it look decent. And then he trimmed them once every two weeks for a good few years.”
“Why did he stop?”
The joy fades from Annie’s eyes, and she looks away.
“I left,” she says quietly, and her voice breaks a little bit. As she looks down, she wipes her nose with her wrist, then stares at the floor.
Your chest sinks. “Oh…” you say, and your face falls as well.
You reach a hand out to touch her arm comfortingly. “You could have asked me to cut them for you. Back when we were back in the cadet corps I would have done anything for you. I know how you used to miss your dad back then.”
You don’t expect her to pour her heart out in return, but you really don’t expect her to completely change gears. Her face lights up again, and she leans forward in her chair.
“So you’ll help me, then?” she asks, very nearly interrupting you.
You tilt your head in confusion. “What?”
Annie wipes at the bottom of one of her eyes, and flicks a tear away. She sniffles and shifts her gaze to you. The edges of her eyes are red and a little puffy, but as she wipes the streak from another tear the sadness begins to leave her face.
“You’ll cut my bangs for me?” she asks with a look of hope replacing her expression.
Blanching, you stammer: “Wait, I — Now? No, I’m gonna mess it up.”
Annie gets up, making her way around the kitchen table before she stops in front of you. She grabs your hands and looks in your eyes. “No you won’t. And even if you do, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“I don’t know about this...” you trail off nervously
“I trust you. Why not? Let’s do this,” she says excitedly, then drops your hands and turns around to make a beeline to the hallway.
You call after her, leaning to the edge of your seat. “Why don’t you go ask your dad to do it?”
Annie stops in the doorway and turns around to look at you. “I’d have to go all the way next door, and he’s probably still sleeping anyway,” she narrows her eyes in an accusatory way. “Hold on — don’t you cut your own hair?”
Your face drains of blood when you realize she’s got you — god damn it.
“Yeah, I guess I do... but my hair is totally different from yours!” For emphasis, you pull a curl down only for it to spring back into place. “It’s not the same to cut.”
“You just said you would have done it in cadet training,” she says with a played-up whine as she slowly makes her way back toward you, “you wouldn’t still do anything for me?” Her lower lip sticks out in a pout.
“Okay, well that’s just not fair,” you tell her, “and don’t make that face at me! I’m trying to be serious.”
The pouting lip curls into a bemused smirk as she fights back laughter. You cross your arms, and she covers her mouth with her hand as she stops in front of your chair.
“I’m sorry,” Annie says, pretty unconvincingly when she can’t hold back her giggles.
Now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes in accusation. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You set me up so I’d agree to give you bangs.”
“Maybe so… but just give it a try, come on!” she pleads, “I think I have some hair cutting scissors around here somewhere, Pieck gave them to me a while back. She said it would be better to have these than to use regular ones.”
You nod in earnest, but still pull a face. “Well she’s probably right about that, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea—”
Annie sighs exasperatedly. “I said I won’t care if you mess it up!”
You reach up to run your fingers through the length of her soft blonde locks, and savor the softness between your fingers. You stroke it tenderly and sigh.
“But I’d care,” you say, embarrassed before the words even come out of your mouth, “I’d feel so guilty if I mess up your beautiful hair.”
Annie’s eyes widen a little, and she blushes. Yet she still rolls her eyes, and after a few seconds she knocks your hand away.
“There you go saying that gay shit again…” she mumbles, visibily a little flustered. “Ugh, you’re being annoying. I’ll go and do it myself.”
She turns around and walks out of the kitchen. The bathroom door thuds against the wall, and Annie loudly rummages through the contents of the cabinet next to the sink.
Quickly, you stand and rush across the room after her. “Wait, you said it turned out badly when you did it. Didn’t you literally just say that it looked like shit? You used the word ‘disaster,’ Annie!”
“I’ve decided that I want bangs,” she reminds you, shouting from across the hall, “and what else am I supposed to do if you won’t cut them?”
You stand in the archway of the kitchen, craning your neck to try and see what she’s doing. A few seconds later she comes out of the bathroom and crosses the hall, brandishing in her hands a small pair of scissors.
“See? I told you I had some.”
Internally and for the first time ever, you curse Pieck’s generosity and thoughtfulness. As Annie walks back into the kitchen, she runs a comb through her hair. She stands in front of the counter with her feet spread apart. The thin blades of the scissors glint in the light, and you immediately stop in your tracks.
“Annie, put that down,” you warn her.
Annie sections out a decently-sized strand of hair from the front of her head, then positions it in between the open blades. She shoots a pointed, intimidating look at you.
“If you’re not going to do it, I will,” she threatens.
You gaze at her for a moment through narrowed eyes. You struggle for a moment to tell whether she’s serious or not.
“Annie...” you try to reason, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t cut it. We should just find someone who has some experi—”
In one swift movement, she snips the scissors closed. A sizable chunk of hair is severed diagonally, and the ends float to the floor in nearly slow motion.
Your jaw drops, and silence hangs in the air for a few long moments. The both of you stare at the hair on the floor before you look back at her. Annie looks at you disinterestedly, daring you to have a reaction.
With no warning you lunge towards her again, snatching at her hands. “Give me the scissors. Give me the scissors,” you beg.
Annie’s reflexes are much faster than yours are, and she deflects your every attempt to swat the tiny silver blades out of her hand almost lazily. You chase her around the kitchen table a few times unsuccessfully until you fake her out, and lunge in the other direction to cut her off.
She leaps out of your reach with ease, and runs back around to the other side.
“I’m not giving them to you unless you agree to cut my bangs,” she repeats.
You slap your hands on the table in exasperation. “I don’t know how! I’ve never done it before.”
Annie laughs somewhat anxiously, and you can't tell if it's because she’s nervous or because you are.
She picks up a slightly larger chunk from the front of her hair this time, and poises the scissors between it ready to cut. You make eye contact with her for a moment, and make the mistake of doubting that she’s any less determined than she is.
As soon as the scissors move this time, you blurt to interrupt her.
“Okay fine!”
The both of you freeze, and two or three cut strands float to the tabletop. Annie looks up with faux innocence in her eyes.
“Did you change your mind?” she asks, blinking.
You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’ll cut it. Yes.”
Annie smiles, and lets the hair go.
“Now hand them over,” you demand, reaching out to her again.
Finally, she lets you take the scissors from her. The second you manage to snatch them, you hold them to your chest for safekeeping and step away.
“Thanks,” Annie says. There’s a glint in her eye when she grabs one of the chairs and drags it to the middle of the kitchen floor.
“You were actually about to butcher your hair just to prove your point?” you ask with arched eyebrows.
She shrugs. “I knew you’d come around.” Annie settles into her chair, and looks so pleased with herself that you can’t bear to argue. After all, you did come around. You always do.
As you make your way back to where she sits, you pick up the comb from the table. She shakes her hair out, and swoops the length back over her forehead.
You stand behind her and touch her shoulder to let her know where you are. Annie leans her head back into your diaphragm when she tilts her head up to look at you.
“Really,” she says, and her smile is soft and genuine, “thank you.”
The blush that spreads across your cheeks is inevitable when you hear the tenderness in her voice. You nod, and stammer out something in agreement.
Annie sighs when you step back, and you stroke her hair in apology. Gently, you begin to run the comb through her hair. For the most part, it passes through cleanly or untangles without resistance. When you do get caught on a tangle, you work at it from the bottom-up.
You accidentally pull hard a couple of times, but Annie isn’t tender headed. She keeps her head still, and when you peek around to take a look at her face you see that her eyes have slipped closed.
Parting her hair with the comb is easy enough. You comb it into place along her scalp, and begin to section out which parts of her hair you’ll cut. As everything settles into place, you realize how far out of place the strand of hair she cut is.
A hand claps over your face to stop the gasp from coming out. In the process you make entirely too much noise, and Annie turns around to look at you.
She catches the look in your eyes and grimaces. She tucks her hair behind both ears.
“How bad is it?” she asks, “and give it to me like it is. Don’t lie.”
“Uh, it’s pretty bad...” you admit, and untuck the hair from her right ear to fluff it out. “But I’m gonna do my best to save it.”
She chuckles. “It’s a good thing I don’t give a shit.”
You nod, but there’s still a hint of sadness to the way you stroke her hair. Annie turns around to look at you, and tilts her head in inquiry.
“I still feel guilty...” you admit. You force yourself to smile, but panic a little at the task before you.
You take the comb, and use it to straighten out a chunk of hair in the middle. Using the tines of the comb as a guide, you snip the hair a little bit at a time until you’ve cleared a good inch or so.
Annie shakes her head, and fluffs it out again. One of her eyes squints when your shadow doesn’t block the sunlight from blinding her as you readjust to get a better look at her. You snip away the rest of the hair in front of her eyes, then in the other direction until you reach the strip she had cut before.
As her hair falls, it catches the sunlight like spun gold. In the direct light the colors range from fair to golden to white blonde, and shimmer as they flutter to the tiled floor. Memories flood through your mind as you’re reminded of the time you’ve spent with her over the years.
Her hair is the same shade of blonde it’s always been, but you never tire at looking at it. From the first time she laid her head on your chest to sleep at fourteen, to the last of your teenage years creeping on by as you spent hours at a time memorizing every detail of the way she looked through several feet of titan crystal.
You study her face now — a little older, with more lines of worry etched into her skin. As you brush the too-long hair out of her eyes, you let your thumb brush against her cheek affectionately.
“I’ll need to trim it a little more,” you say, and Annie nods.
With her eyes still closed, her lips twitch up into a soft, genuine smile. Her cheeks turn pink at the same time, unsurprisingly, and you can’t help but think of how lucky you are to have ended up where you are in front of her.
You comb through the hair again, and blow stray hairs off of her face. Her nose scrunches up, and she stifles a giggle.
“Breathe out,” you instruct, but you can’t help but laugh along with her.
Annie exhales, and you blow again. This time, you get the vast majority of the hairs off of her face. The first trim gave you the confidence in yourself to snip just above her eyebrows, and trim the rest of her bangs at that level in a straight line.
It turns out pretty well for your first try, but you still spend another minute or so making sure that her bangs are cut at the same length, and trim a few strands a little bit longer on each side to frame her face. Snipping and cutting to the point of perfectionism, all the while you pray that your hands aren’t shaking.
Once you feel like you’ve given it your best shot, you sit back. You’re certainly no professional, but it’s better than it would have been if Annie had done a chop-job of her own.
“I’m gonna blow on you again,” you warn her. She holds her breath and squeezes her eyes shut.
One big lungful of air later and almost all of the hair is easily blown away. What doesn’t come off easily, you wipe away with your thumb.
Annie’s eyes open, and she looks at you expectantly. “Can I look?” she asks.
She jumps to her feet the second you nod, bounding clear across the room and into the bathroom. Although it takes you a few moments to catch up with her, you manage to catch a glimpse of the look on her face as she gazes at herself in the mirror.
You stop in the doorway to admire the pretty little smile that she has plastered across her face, and you go completely silent as thoughts are wiped from your brain. Her eyes are soft and full of vulnerability as she studies her appearance, messing with the way the bangs sit on her forehead.
Annie tucks her hair behind her left ear apprehensively. She catches your gaze in the mirror, and you can see in her expression that she’s looking for validation.
“Does it look like shit?” she asks, eyes wide and on the verge of regret.
The light in the bathroom shows just how red her cheeks are burning, and she buries her face in her hands in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. A nervous laugh echoes in the back of her throat.
“No, it doesn’t,” you reassure her, “you look really cute.”
Annie drops her hands, and her cheeks darken. She pushes past you, making a point to knock her shoulder into yours as she passes.
“Hey! Don’t get mad at me, I just did you a favor,” you call after her, following her back into the kitchen.
She finally stops and turns back to face you. “You don’t have to make fun of me,” she pouts.
You shake your head vigorously. “Saying you’re cute is a compliment. I like it when you’re cute,” you say, squeezing her shoulder. You resist the urge to pinch her cheeks, but you know that she’d kill you in a heartbeat if you did. You don’t say anything more, but Annie sees the look in your eye and scowls.
“Shut up—” she says, crossing her arms, “I mean, thank you. And thanks for cutting my hair, too.”
You snort, but quickly stop yourself from laughing. “You didn’t give me much of a choice,” you remind her, “but you’re welcome.”
Annie steps closer to you, and pulls one of your curls down. “Next time you decide you want to change up your look, I’ll repay the favor.” As she finishes her sentence, she lets the curl bounce back into place for emphasis.
“Oh, hell no,” you say, chuckling nervously as you step out of her grasp.
She bursts into laughter. “What? No, come on, don’t you trust me?”
“With my life? No hesitation. But with my hair…? Not so much.” You run a hand through your hair, and consider moving the hair cutting scissors to somewhere she can’t find them. Maybe on the top shelf in the pantry, or in the linen closet where she can’t reach them.
Annie cuts off your thought process when her arms snake around your neck. You stoop to look her in the eye, and her arms wrap around you further. Her thumbs gently trace circles into the back of your neck. It sends shivers down your spine, and when she notices how much it affects you, she steps closer to you and bumps her hips against yours.
“You’ll come around someday,” she says to you quietly, “you usually do.”
You wrap your arms around her waist, and Annie rises up on her toes to nuzzle her nose into your cheek lovingly. Leaning into her touch, you pull her as close as you can manage.
She presses her forehead into yours, and your heart grows warm at the feeling of the newly-cut bangs tickling you. You smile as you inhale the scent of her skin and the soap she uses.
“Damn, I wonder why,” you mutter, and your happiness vocalizes with a contented hum when she presses her lips against your cheek.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Annie says before she finally leans in for a proper kiss.
Her lips are as soft and familiar as they always have been. You cup her face in your hands at the sound of the quiet hum she lets out as you kiss her, and you smile into her as the fireworks inside of you explode and shower curtains of shimmering light inside of your soul.
The warmth in your chest spreads, and you once again think of how happy you are to be there with her — no secret agenda for Annie to complete, and no battles to fight. Not right now. Just the two of you, a pair of hair cutting scissors you will never let her touch again, and the silence of the countryside that drifts through the open window.
After so many years you’ve finally gotten to a point where there aren’t secrets between you anymore, and both the emotional and physical distance between you is finally gone. Wrapped up in her arms and standing in the kitchen of the house you’ve made for yourselves, you think about how grateful you are to her.
Because of her and thanks to her love, for the first time in a very long time you both have a place to call home.