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The hum of the hairdryer was what Hanabi registered, along with a hand bouncing her tresses up to better dry. Sometimes that hand would brush against her bare nape, and every time her heart would do a little flip in her chest, the girl pursing her lips to try and quell the words she so badly wanted to tell the person behind her.
“What did you say you wanted?” Mugi asked, his voice still audible amidst the sounds of the hairdryer, eyes looking into the mirror to stare directly at Hanabi, expression neutral.
Hanabi instinctively opened her mouth to say ‘you’ but took a moment to herself to realize he was asking about the hairstyle she wanted. It was a close call, and Hanabi internally berated herself to calm down and not get stuck up on old feelings.
But that’s just it.
If it were that simple Hanabi wouldn’t be hung up on this boy with the blond hair and iridescent eyes. She wouldn’t be jumping every time there was the briefest of physical contact between them.
Feelings were hard to toss and get rid of, she learned the hard way. After all, she spent most of her childhood pining over her childhood friend, so she knew what it looked and felt like. But now, her target was different and her feelings for him were—dare she say it—stronger than for Onii-chan.
She subtly shook her head for her thoughts to turn to a different topic.
Fact of the matter was that she had a date to attend, and for some reason her mind thought of Mugi to style her hair for the occasion. All it took was a single text message for his assistance and his reply of affirmation and she was high-tailing it out of her house to head to his apartment. She didn’t even know if he knew anything about braiding but she was out of her home before she could think about it.
She told herself she was just there for the style but even then she knew at the back of her mind that she wanted something more. What exactly, she still wasn’t sure yet.
“Hanabi?”
She snapped back and felt embarrassment creep up on her, gently shaking her head to rid of those thoughts and focus on the present.
“Hai?”
“Your hair’s all dry now.” He threaded his fingers through her hair as if to test that everything was indeed dry. “What style did you want?”
“Can you braid my hair from the sides and join them in the middle?” she asked, gesturing what she wanted with her hands and peering up at him through the mirror. He looked thoughtful as he hummed but then a smile crossed his lips.
“Sure.”
She smiled back to be polite and then she felt his fingers combing the hair on the left, securing that portion with a large blue clip. He then went to work on the right side, his calloused fingers weaving almost effortlessly through her hair.
And Hanabi’s heart squeezed with a mix of pain and something else that was foreign to her. She couldn’t quite place a word on that feeling yet but she had an idea as to what that was.
She sat there staring at her reflection but more often than not, her eyes drifted upward to see the concentration in Mugi’s eyes, the way his lips would purse when he was dealing with a difficult braid, and how he met her eye and averted his gaze too quickly.
His fingers would graze her skin and Hanabi would go tight-lipped, willing herself not to crumble at his feather-light touches that seemed too good to be true. It’s been a while but her skin could still remember his hands, his fingers, and his presence. Why couldn’t she just be normal and move on?
Soon her hair was styled and she gasped at how simple yet beautiful the braids were around her head and Mugi was smirking triumphantly at a job well done.
He patted her shoulder and her nerves buzzed.
With a smile he looked directly at her (no mirror this time) and declared, “You’re all set.”
Her lips quirked up and she stood, the feeling in her legs lost for the time she had been sitting. She wobbled unsteadily and prepared to hit the ground but his arms found their way around her waist to hold her upright and her brain short-circuited.
Hanabi jolted away from him as if burned and pretended not to see the flash of hurt and confusion that passed Mugi’s face. Hurrying to the door, she toed on her short heels and twisted the doorknob open.
“Thank you for doing my hairstyle. Do I need to pay you?” she asked, already reaching into her bag.
“No need.” He smiled, albeit pained. Hanabi’s chest squeezed again. “Feel free to call me if you’ve got any more favors.”
“The same to you,” she found herself saying. A look of puzzlement crossed his features. “I mean if you need any favors, feel free to contact me as well.” And for old time’s sake and because Hanabi sorely missed feeling his lips, she took a step toward him and placed her lips on his for a brief kiss. Then she was waving and out the door, heart on overdrive and cheeks ablaze with a blush.
If that was the last kiss they’d share then so be it. At least they were still able to kiss and for selfish reasons, that would never be enough for Yasuraoka Hanabi.