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“About time for a trim, huh?”
Helmeppo falters mid-swing with his training sword; across from him, Coby side-steps to avoid getting hit by accident, then watches as his partner’s face goes a startling shade of red. He struggles to get anything out and settles on a - probably a little less polite than intended - “…sorry?”
Garp stops in his tracks and takes two big steps backward, nodding toward Helmeppo.
“Your hair. It’s getting long. You’re about due at the barber’s, aren’t you?”
“I—yes,” Helmeppo answers, looking down at the ground between them. “I’ll make sure it gets taken care of. Sir.”
Garp shrugs, and he’s off again to wherever he’d been headed, seemingly unbothered by their brief exchange. Helmeppo, however, remains in a daze until Coby calls on him for another match. He shakes it off, apologizes for being distracted, and positions himself back into a proper starting stance.
It’s the combination of a few busy weeks, a spring headcold that had taken too long to get over, and poor scheduling. Not a huge deal - certainly not anything he’ll actually be punished for so long as he remedies it. Sometimes it’s hard to read Garp’s intentions. Maybe he’d just been teasing?
And yet, there’s a weird tension that Helmeppo carries with himself through the rest of their afternoon’s training activities. It comes over him like a shadow, and where he’s usually so focused, he’s suddenly scatter-brained and sloppy. He moves like he did when they first came under Garp’s supervision: uncertain, hesitating, too stiff, his focus clearly elsewhere.
Coby thinks nothing of it at first. They’re only human, after all. People have bad days, just as they have good ones - there’s little doubt in his mind that a hearty meal, a shower, and a proper night’s sleep will do him a world of good. And so he brushes it off, offers his partner a smile, and throws himself back into training.
Another round of sparring with their peers comes and goes and with it, Helmeppo suffers another loss. And another. With each clatter of his training sword against the ground, he seems to grow more frustrated, more restless. The final round ends with him cursing under his breath and stalking off of the training field, tossing the dulled sword aside with little care for where it lands.
Coby is behind him in an instant, jogging to catch up with his pace.
“Hey—”
Helmeppo glances over at him - and Coby’s heart sinks. He immediately knows that if it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t have been given this same courtesy. It’s written in the deep scowl that his partner makes no effort to hide, the exhaustion radiating from his entire being. Their eyes meet, and Coby offers a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get it tomorrow. Let’s go wash up for dinner.”
He wholly expects to be rebuked for his enthusiasm. It wouldn’t be the first time. Instead, Helmeppo heaves a sigh that sounds like it took far too much effort to force. He’s not used to this resignation.
“Yeah,” he mutters, turning his attention forward again as they walk together back to the dorm. “You’re probably right.”
They don’t speak - not on the walk back, not as they prepare for the showers, not when they dress for dinner in clean uniforms afterward. Whatever this is that’s overcome him, Helmeppo doesn’t seem to want to elaborate, and that’s fine. Coby knows not to push. If his company is welcome, he’ll happily provide that at least, until Helmeppo is ready to talk. And if he’s never ready to talk about it? That’s alright too.
They sit together, knees touching under the table as they eat their dinner. Conversation is sparse but that’s nothing particularly new; it’s difficult to talk about much while surrounded by the commotion of the noisy, crowded mess hall. The food helps at least - by the time they’ve cleared their plates, Helmeppo seems more present, less tired, but he’s still off somehow. It might not be obvious to anyone else, but Coby has spent so much time in his close company that his body language reads like an open book. He’s sitting straighter than usual, his shoulders pulled back to keep him from slouching. It’s strange - like looking at someone being graded on their posture rather than sharing dinner with colleagues and friends.
Half way back to the dorms, Helmeppo breaks his relative silence, entirely unprompted. “I’ll be late for training tomorrow morning.” His hands are shoved deep into his pockets and there’s still something odd about how he carries himself. He doesn’t look over at Coby when he adds on, “Garp will understand. I’ll make up for it after hours.”
“Oh,” Coby says, because he’s busy wracking his brain trying to figure out if maybe he’s missed something - some appointment or scheduled meeting that Helmeppo might have mentioned off-handedly, something he’d forgotten. He’s usually so good at keeping track of these things. When nothing comes to mind, curiosity outweighs the cautious distance he’s been keeping. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything’s fine,” Helmeppo insists almost too quickly, and his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, even as he raises a hand as if to physically wave off Coby’s concern. “I just figured I’d get that haircut taken care of before he nags me about it again.”
Coby nods. “That makes sense.”
Though it’s strange that he’s still thinking about that brief confrontation that afternoon, if it could even be called a confrontation. It had felt more like an off-handed comment than anything serious. As long as they take care of their appearance, Garp’s never really had much to say about things like that. For him to start caring now…
“Anyway, I’ll stay with you tomorrow,” he offers, instead of following that train of thought. “I could use the extra practice. Besides…” He steps in just a little closer, giving Helmeppo a little nudge. “It’ll be like the old days. Just the two of us.”
There’s a smile - the first genuine one that Coby has seen since that afternoon. “That sounds nice,” Helmeppo replies. His smile widens a little. “But I’m not going to go easy on you like I used to.”
They bicker and laugh all the way back to their room, whatever dark cloud was hanging over them seemingly completely forgotten.
___
The rest of the evening goes as their evenings usually do: they change into their pajamas and brush their teeth, settle down in their respective beds - still side by side on the floor, just like when they first arrived here what feels like another lifetime ago. They read by the light of a lantern by the bed, Coby working his way through a huge tome on naval history, while Helmeppo favors some cheesy novel he’d bought on their last trip out into town.
They lay close enough to touch, shoulder to shoulder, in companionable silence until they’re both too tired to keep their eyes open. Coby barely manages to close the book and set his glasses aside before he’s succumbing to sleep, his head resting against Helmeppo’s arm. There’s something endlessly comforting in their routine, and in their closeness. It isn’t long before he’s out cold.
He’s not sure what time it is when he opens his eyes again - in fact, at first, he can’t figure out what’s woken him at all. It’s still dark in their room. There aren’t any alarms sounding, no footsteps in the hall. In fact, everything seems strangely quiet. Except…
It takes a moment before realization creeps in: the bed is cold, and the space next to him is empty. He reaches out to confirm his suspicions, then sits upright, fumbling for his glasses.
His half-asleep thoughts are immediately catastrophic, an old habit he’s never quite rid himself of. What if something had happened? Maybe Helmeppo’s sick, maybe dinner had upset his stomach? Maybe he’s gone to the infirmary - why hadn’t he woken him?
Though that anxious rush, he notices one important detail: at the far end of the room, their tiny bathroom door is cracked open, and the light is on. He sits in bed and listens for a long moment, half expecting to hear some sign of what has his partner up so late. When no retching or coughing comes - in fact, no sound at all - Coby finally pulls back the blankets and pads barefoot across the floor, stopping just shy of the bathroom, just close enough that he can see through the crack in the door. He’s about to speak when something catches his eye, and he closes his mouth just as quickly.
Helmeppo is standing in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection with a deep frown etched into his features. His eyes are rimmed red and his cheeks flushed as though he’s been crying, but whatever fit of emotion he might have had has been replaced with an eery stillness, as though he’s looking at himself but isn’t really there. His hair is a mess, and he’s tugging absent-mindedly at the ends of it - as Coby takes another step closer, he can see that Helmeppo’s hands are shaking.
It feels like he shouldn’t be seeing any of this. But he is, and if he turns around and tucks himself back into bed, pretends that he doesn’t know that something’s wrong, what sort of partner - what sort of friend - would he be?
He tentatively pushes the door open another inch.
“I don’t want to pry,” Coby murmurs, quiet, so as not to startle Helmeppo, who already looks seconds away from crumbling. “But…I want you to know I also want to listen, if you want someone to talk to.”
Helmeppo doesn’t look at him, still transfixed by whatever it is he’s seeing in the mirror, but he nods. Even then it seems to take him a moment to conjure the words, as though he’s somewhere between consciousness and a whole other place, somewhere far away from here.
“I have to get my hair cut in the morning,” he says, his voice trembling, as he tugs at the strands that have grown longer, almost to his chin now. “…but what if I don’t want to?”
Coby frowns, taking a step closer, so that he’s standing properly in the doorway. “I don’t see why you couldn’t grow it out,” he points out. “You wouldn’t be the only one. As long as you keep it neat…”
Helmeppo swallows hard, his hands falling to grip the edge of the sink. For a minute, it looks like he might be sick; his chest heaves with each hard breath and his jaw is clenched. Coby’s already moving closer, ready to hold his hair back, fetch him some water if he needs it. But then it passes, and they’re left standing in the too-small bathroom together.
Beside him, Helmeppo sniffles.
“It’s so stupid,” he manages, through gritted teeth. “I know they’re not the same, but this afternoon…”
They?
Coby reaches out, a hand rubbing against his back, soothing. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it,” he insists. “You know how he is.”
“He didn’t,” Helmeppo chokes out. He’s shaking again, his fists clenched where they’re still resting against the sink. “But…my father…”
Oh.
There isn’t anything Coby can think to say in this moment that will make any of this better. For a minute, he feels completely at a loss. He can’t reach back through time and wipe away all of the debris that Morgan had left in his wake, he can’t snap his fingers and magically heal all of that hurt and anger and shame. But there is one thing he can do.
And so - as slowly as he can, so as not to further startle his partner, he steps in closer and wraps his arms around Helmeppo’s waist from behind, resting his cheek against his back and simply holding him. If words are failing him, maybe he can convey that sudden sympathetic ache in his chest instead.
In his arms, Helmeppo tenses first, knuckles white against the porcelain of the sink. And then he makes the most awful, wrenching sound in his throat and leans forward as though he can no longer support his own weight. His shaking now is from the sobs wracking his body rather than nervous, angry energy, and Coby holds him through it all, silent and steady, a grounding force. Whatever comfort he can offer, he will. He’ll be here in the aftermath, too, and in the morning, when all of this feels less smothering.
Minutes pass, and the sobs slowly give way to soft sniffles, a wet cough. Only then does Coby let go, moving to grab some tissues, and - when Helmeppo allows it - he stands on his toes to wipe his tears away.
“Go lay down,” he says, offering a reassuring smile and tucking some of that lovely golden hair behind his partner’s ear. “I’ll bring you some water. We can talk if you feel like it, and if you don’t…then we can just sleep, okay?”
Helmeppo nods, and makes for the bedroom; even his posture speaks of how worn through he is. When Coby joins him, his breathing has mostly evened out, and he gratefully accepts the glass of water that he’s handed. His cheeks are all splotched and pink and under his eyes, little red dots have broken out from how hard he’d cried.
He’s beautiful despite all of it. It isn’t the first time Coby has thought it during a moment where Helmeppo would tell him in no uncertain terms that there’s nothing beautiful about himself at all.
They lay down together, Helmeppo with his head tucked against Coby’s chest - it means that his feet stick out from under the covers and rest against the cold, hard wood floor, but he hardly notices. Coby’s fingers brush through his hair, so much more gentle than his own had been just minutes before, stroking along his scalp and down to the nape of his neck.
“He used to mock me for it,” he mumbles. It’s easier to speak with all of that weight lifted from his chest. “I remember once, I couldn’t have been more than…maybe eight years old. I told him that I wanted to keep my hair long. He told me that no son of his would be caught looking like a wimp. That he wouldn’t be seen with me. That he’d be ashamed of me.” Coby can feel the grimace pressed against him even through the fabric of his shirt. He lets his hand stray lower, rubbing circles between Helmeppo’s shoulder blades. “I kept a schedule - every three weeks. And if I slipped up…”
He draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sigh. “I just wanted him to be proud of me, you know? But he only ever noticed me when I wasn’t good enough.”
“That’s stupid.”
The words are out before Coby can stop them, but they’re out, and there’s no turning back now. “In what world does having long hair have anything to do with what kind of person you are?”
“Coby—”
“You could go out there tomorrow morning and beat every single person in the training yard into the dirt, and you could do it with your hair down to your knees if you wanted it. The way you look has nothing to do with how strong you are.”
“Coby, I—”
“If he couldn’t see what was right in front of him, he was blind. Any decent man would be proud to call you their son. He’s not deserving of that, and he never was.”
He only realizes what he’s said when he pauses to breathe, and, peering down through the dim light of their quarters, he finds Helmeppo staring up at him, wide-eyed. Instead of shying away from it - apologizing maybe, for how bold his words were - Coby doubles down, offering a warm smile.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to Helmeppo’s forehead. “I’m so proud of you. And I want you to do whatever makes you happy, okay?”
Helmeppo is quiet for the longest moment. And then, at the corners of his mouth, there’s a smile that he can’t fight anymore.
“You mean it, don’t you?” he manages, sounding equal parts grateful and exasperated. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve someone like you. You’re too good for me.”
At that, Coby can’t help but laugh. Sometimes he still thinks it weird how fate had brought them together - given them both exactly what they’d needed when they were both at the precipice of a whole new life. He can’t even begin to imagine how different things would be if they had never met. Either way, if this was what was intended for him - for them - then he was grateful for it.
“That’s ridiculous. I know if I was hurting, you would do the same for me,” he insists, and he knows that it’s true. If his world was falling apart, Helmeppo would be right there beside him, helping him to pick up the pieces - even if he still struggles to admit such caring aloud. “But I’m serious. If you want to grow your hair out, do it. He can’t tell you what to do anymore.”
And what an act of rebellion it would be, to do the very thing he’d spent so many years desperately avoiding for the approval of a man who never would have given it.
They fall into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, Coby’s almost sure that he’s the only one left awake. After all, crying does take a lot out of a person, especially after carrying those heavy feelings for so long. He’s just about to close his eyes and finally let himself drift off again when Helmeppo speaks, warm and soft against his chest.
“Would you come with me tomorrow?” he asks, sounding as though he’s demanding the world instead of a small favor.
Coby frowns. “You’re still going to get your hair cut?”
“To talk to Garp, I mean,” Helmeppo interjects. “About growing it out. I know I don’t have to ask his permission but—”
But it’s a habit that he can’t quite break. Coby understands without it needing to be said - that approval will help chase away all of those awful feelings, all of that doubt.
“Of course,” he answers, without hesitation. “Besides, we already have plans to make up some time tomorrow night. I think you said something about not going easy on me, didn’t you? I’m going to hold you to that.”
He can hear the smile in Helmeppo’s voice, even with his eyes closed.
“You’re going to regret it, but if you insist.” He reaches down to pull the blankets up to his shoulders, and breathes out a sigh. “Goodnight, Coby.”
“Sweet dreams,” he mumbles back. It isn’t long before the day catches up, and soon enough, they’re both snoring.
Coby wakes first, already buzzing with a thought that he can’t seem to rid himself of: there’s a little shop that he’s walked by countless times that sells trinkets and jewelry, and he wants to find something especially lovely to gift Helmeppo, something to keep his bangs out of the way when they train together.
In the early morning light, both of them still ruffled from sleep, he sits behind Helmeppo and brushes his hair back from his face. For now, a rubber band will have to do.
But some day soon? He’ll find a treasure worthy of him.