Work Text:
You sat together during a leisurely day. The only sound heard was the crackling of the fire and the patting of rain on glass. Andrew sat by the window, looking out at god knows what. You busied yourself around the kitchen, looking for a lost cake tray.
Andrew absent-mindedly twiddled the hair on his neck between two fingers. He stopped, looking at his arm and running a nail along the length of his hair.
"My hair's grown out." He mumbled, turning to you, supporting his elbow on the back of the chair.
"Want me to cut it?" You look at him from within the depths of a drawer.
"Well...It never went well when I cut it myself..."
You smile at his remark, rising from your search and shutting the dresser. You retrieve a pair of scissors on your way to his place on the chair, guiding him into the bathroom, hoping to prevent having to pick out hair from the gaps in your floorboards.
He pulled out a stepstool and comfortably seated himself down as you picked a comb. You hesitantly ghosted your hands over his head for a moment. "I'll start now" you warn, guiding the teeth through his hair, starting from the bottom layers.
His hair didn't twist into any particularly strong curls that would be problematic to break up, instead only having a slight crimp, which helped slick his hair into a natural, charming shape. It’s gotten much fluffier and lighter since he’s met you.
He leaned back in your grasp, the ridge of the comb scratching against his skin pleasantly. You maneuver the tool through, occasionally following its trail with your fingers to collect loose hairs.
As time went on you watched his shoulders slump, inhaling deep breaths. However, as you can possibly imagine, it doesn't take very long to brush out straight hair. Soon you were done, regretting to alert Andrew, who looked like he was about to doze off.
“Alright, I’m done. We can cut it now, if you’re sure.” You murmur gently, making it a point to not startle him, reshaping and playing with his hair as you speak. "Do you feel alright taking your shirt off? You’d have to shake the hair out later..." You point out, reaching over to grab your scissors. They weren't the specialized hair kind, but you'd just have to make do.
Andrew groggily undid his top two buttons, then hesitantly grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head, further ruffling his already distressed hair. Although you’ve seen him in varying states of undress before, it was always nice to know he trusted you enough to show himself as such in front of you.
He looked at you as he turned the shirt back to the right side, the emotion his eyes were glazed over with was vague, but definitely not positive.
"Are you worried I'll cut it uneven?" You joke lightly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension plaguing him, smoothing down his raised hair.
"N..No. I'm not worried..." His tone seemed contradictory, shaky. There was something behind it that he didn't voice.
You pat his shoulder, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "It's alright. Please tell me if it's better that I stop. Can I begin?”
He nods in response. You begin your work at the area around his neck. You brushed the comb parallel to his scalp, separating off small portions and holding them taut between two fingers, then chopping off a centimeter or two with the scissors. It wasn’t a very precise technique, but the results it gave were sufficiently tidy.
Soon, the only noise in the room was the faulty buzz of the lightbulb and somewhat consistent snips, as well as your clothes rustling when you shifted for a new angle. You kept an eye on Andrew, noting that he was tense about the process, reminiscent of how he was when you first found him - stiff, reserved, on guard.
Deeming a section finished, you curl a finger below his chin, gently guiding his head to face you better, hoping for better success with his haircut. He complied without much resistance, giving you free rein to do as you please. You keep in mind the length his hair was at when you liked it most as you snipped, getting immersed in the task and its repetitive nature, forgetting about anything else.
This proved to be quite troublesome, as you didn’t notice Andrew become increasingly more uneasy.
In contrast to you, a lot of distressing thoughts were swirling in his head. He felt entirely exposed, in his own bathroom, in his own home. He regrettably realized that he was stuck here, sitting on a -much too short for his height- stool, his legs cramping, too afraid to change his posture or speak up, his bare feet chilled by the tiles beneath. His leg began to bounce as his thoughts wandered.
What he felt even guiltier about, however, was the initial reaction when he processed that there was a person dwelling above him, equipped with a very sharp tool, in control of his state. This feeling of being utterly trapped reminded him of things he didn’t like bringing up.
It became worse when you began humming. You’d otherwise hum to him on occasion when he couldn’t sleep, it proved incredibly effective at soothing him. So why was it causing him so much distress? The voice seemed disembodied, taunting, a terrible, twisted sound mocking something he held dear, as well as himself. He didn’t even attach it to the person behind him, rather associating it with his often mocking thoughts.
Something awoke within his head. Something cardinal, something urgent, a thought that felt more like instinct. Every nerve burned with the message to flee.
The words spoken next brought him back, like a splash of chilly water to his face. Only then did he realize he materialized such thoughts about none other than you. His reflex was to show distrust, that the person wielding that dreadful pair of scissors was an enemy, he didn’t even realize it was his beloved in all the panic. He didn't understand what you were saying, only registering that something was spoken, as if it was said in a language he didn't understand.
“Hey, Andrew?”
No response.
“Do you want me to trim your bangs as well?” You continue with your question. You innocently reach out from his side to lift them.
That’s the moment something snapped. The urge to run and hide - one that he was taught over and over by the terrible people of his previous life - completely taking over Andrew, all his previous musing thrown out the window.
He abruptly stood from the seat, slapping your hand away and facing you, the hair clippings that were stuck to his back now messily spreading on the tiles below.
You stand, confused, your wrist stinging slightly.
“Andrew…?” You ask, unsure of what to do. His eyes widen in panic and realization.
“No…No, I’m so sorry!” He takes a step closer to you, arms outstretched helplessly. “Please…”
You put the scissors away urgently, the metal clanking against the wood of a nearby drawer. “Hey, it’s alright, it's okay! What happened…?” You approach, arms in front of you invitingly. “Did I scare you? I'm sorry-”
He pulled you towards him, your face buried in his chest. “No, not you…” He held you snugly, depriving you of air ever so slightly. You could hear his heart thumping alarmingly fast, but it eventually slowed as he took deep breaths. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with me anymore.” His words muffled as he pressed his lips to your temple.
“And what makes you say that?” You speak as you shift his arms lower, allowing you to look at him. “What were you thinking about, Andrew?”
“Do you promise…You won’t hate me?”
“Of course, love.” You hold his cheek, smoothing a finger on it. "Do you feel alright telling me?” He nodded slowly.
“I-I…just felt so helpless…You were holding those scissors…And I felt as if it was someone else, someone wanting me dead” It took a while for him to voice his thoughts as he paused and stuttered. He seemed to shrink with each word.
“Oh…Andrew. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were feeling that way. Come here…” You dust his shoulders off from the leftover hair, handing him his shirt. He put it on slowly, careful to shrug your hold off accordingly. You held him gently once more as he finished. "Are you feeling any better?"
He hummed in affirmation.
"Do you think you'd let me finish? Maybe later?"
"Sure…How much did you get done?" He bent lower to let you check. You combed your hands against the growth of his hair, flicking it out of its smoothed state. The cut ends were scratchy against your fingers.
"Ah, most of it…Are you maybe…Ready to cut your bangs?"
A lot of his reclusive habits came from hiding behind them. He liked having half his face hidden, he felt obscured from the ruthless world, even if partially. That's why the question weighed heavy on your tongue, and why his decision was hard to make up his mind on.
He liked his progress in taking on the world. But it's better to take baby steps.
"No, I'm not ready." he stuttered, unsure of asserting the decision but definite in its nature.
"That's alright. I think we're done, then." You smooth down his collar and plant a kiss on his cheek. "You did so well. I'm proud. And look at you, you look so handsome!"
He turned to the mirror. His usual heavy, judging gaze met him back, but his freshened hair helped alleviate his visage.
"Well…I guess I do look…nicer" He cocked his head up to adjust his hair at a different angle, but the subtle smile on his face didn't escape you. "Thank you." He stopped to kiss you on the cheek, then went back to playing with his hair. This is probably the longest you've witnessed him looking at himself.
You soon went on continuing your day. Your cake tray still wasn't found and Andrew had hair to clean up, although he soon returned to dwelling around in the kitchen in your company. His presence seemed greater.
You didn't miss how he'd dwell around anything reflective as you prepared for bed, looking at himself. You went to sleep that night with Andrew complaining about the itching against his neck.