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A delicate hand brushed away the pale hair of her fringe for what was probably the hundredth time that day. It was a minor inconvenience, sure, but it was certainly bothersome when her eyelashes were tickled with every blink or when a single needle point of a strand decided to stab her sclera. This situation of hers had resulted in rapid blinks, a half lidded gaze, and constant irritation. With the election in full swing, her hair appointments had slipped her mind despite Sayaka’s weekly reminders and constant cancellations.
She rubbed at her eye again. She was beginning to feel just the slightest hint of regret, a feeling she was not accustomed to.
An irritated sigh escaped her lips. For her, it was nothing more than an exhalation of air, an act that would not even be perceived. But Sayaka knew. Somehow, she noticed her growing discomfort and was at her side in an instant.
“President, is something wrong?”
Kirari brought the teacup she was nursing to her lips, perhaps as a means of disguising her true emotions. “No, Sayaka, I’m perfectly fine. And a lovely brew you made this afternoon.”
“Thank you, President, but are you sure you’re alright?” A look of hesitation crossed her features and Kirari waited to see if Sayaka would verbalize her inner musings. “You have appeared to be abnormally troubled lately. Is there another threat to your position as president? I can handle it right away.”
Kirari smiled at her secretary’s overly protective attitude. “Nothing like that at all, I assure you.” She spoke plainly, a rare occasion. “My hair has simply gotten too long and it’s getting in my eyes.”
As she always did, she watched the range of emotions that were always so outwardly displayed on Sayaka’s features. Confusion made way for realization which then, interestingly, turned bashful. Under her long bangs, she raised a questioning brow.
“If it’s bothering you so much, would you…” Sayaka visibly gathered her nerves. “Would you mind if… if I trimmed them for you?”
Well, that was not at all what she was expecting. For someone that people called plain, an opinion Kirari highly disagreed with, Sayaka was always so full of surprises.
“What an interesting offer, Sayaka.”
Something seemed to snap in her secretary who hurried to correct herself. For what, Kirari didn’t know. “I-I didn’t mean to insinuate that I’m a professional, by any means! I usually cut my own hair, and of course, I would never hurt you with the scissors! It’s just an offer, President, I’m s—”
“Sayaka, I have no need of your cosmetology credentials.” She sent her secretary a smile that disarmed her self-doubt. “I would love it if you trimmed my hair.”
After her verbal consent, Sayaka was quick to gather the equipment she needed. It was all laid out on the table before them: a handheld mirror, a neck duster, a comb, and small shears. She had observed the items with intrigue, almost missing the way Sayaka began unbuttoning the outer layer of her uniform. She watched her pull it off completely from the stool set out for her.
“Apologies, President,” Sayaka said, moving to stand behind her. “I couldn’t find a proper cape, and it wouldn’t be proper for you to walk around with hair on your uniform.”
That was the only warning Kirari had been graced with before she was enveloped in what was essentially a Sayaka-scented blanket. The blazer was draped over her backwards, the sleeves hanging from her shoulders. She felt a single button be fastened at her back so it wouldn’t fall off, as Sayaka put it, so her arms were trapped at her sides for the time being.
Her secretary went off to retrieve the supplies. With her back turned, Kirari dared to bring the fabric up to her nose and inhaled deeply.
Oh…
Kirari was hit with the realization that her secretary smelled good. Of course, she never thought Sayaka smelled bad. She knew the girl to be a tad obsessed with cleanliness as she was with her grades, and they had gotten in close enough proximity to be able to get an idea of each other’s scent, but that had only ever been in passing. Never has Kirari been surrounded by such fragrance. The jacket carried a pleasant mix of vanilla and a hint of almonds and it made her aware of the fact that Sayaka smelled really good.
“Sayaka, do you bake?”
Her secretary turned to her, confused, the shears in her hand. “No, President. I can if you want me to make you something, though baking is not one of my hobbies.”
“A tempting offer, but no thank you,” Kirari observed as Sayaka also picked up the comb. “Though I would like a complete list of all your hygiene products.”
“O-Okay…”
Kirari closed her eyes as Sayaka approached. “But that’s for a later time. You may begin.”
Their silence was a thing of beauty. The years together had taught them to be comfortable in their own company. As much as Kirari loved to amuse herself with her games, she also knew how to appreciate Sayaka’s quiet presence whether she was busy filing whatever paperwork there was or just idle at her side. This, however, was different. Kirari was hyperaware of the girl in front of her. With her eyes closed, she couldn’t see, but she could hear every tensed breath, feel every small touch. She could even imagine the intense concentration that would stare back at her if she were to open her eyes.
The comb dragged through her hair first, letting it fall where it usually would without Kirari brushing it aside. It was followed by the feel of Sayaka’s fingers lifting just a small portion. Then, Kirari heard the telltale sound of the shears snipping the ends off. She heard Sayaka exhale.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Sayaka,” she murmured. She didn’t want to risk startling the girl and end up walking around with a lopsided hairdo.
Her secretary whispered back, “Yes, President…” Another cut.
Soon enough, she had fallen into a constant rhythm. Brush, snip. Brush, snip. The repeating pattern had her relaxing in her seat. Kirari kept her eyes closed the whole time, letting Sayaka do as she pleased. Every so often, a thumb or the duster would stroke her cheek or nose, likely removing stray hair clippings. The feeling had her heart beating quicker than normal and her insides doing funny things. She now knows why people used the term butterflies.
The snips stopped at some point. Sayaka continued dragging the comb through. “I think I’m finished,” she says softly.
Kirari wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or announcing the completion of her task. A thumb caressed her face again, though this time, it stopped and rested on the apple of her cheek. She felt something touch her nose.
“Your lashes are so white,” Sayaka breathed against her lips. “So pretty…”
Said lashes fluttered as Kirari opened her eyes, staring straight into deep pools of violet shining in adoration. She tilted her head just a little and she felt the faintest touch of their lips.
And just like that, the moment wilted like a flower.
Sayaka was quick to back away from where she was hovering over the President. Her face was a furious shade of red and she tripped over her words. The room filled with broken apologies as Sayaka floundered. Kirari reassured her with placating words, barely stopping her from throwing herself on the ground to plead for unnecessary forgiveness.
When Sayaka calmed down, she undid the button at Kirari’s back and removed the blazer. Kirari mourned the loss of her makeshift blanket. Sayaka then took the mirror and held it up in front of Kirari so she could inspect her work. Turning her head left and right, she looked on approvingly at her reflection. It was as if she had just left the hairdresser, her hair falling just under her brows but not so long as to irritate her as they had before.
“You did a wonderful job, Sayaka,” she said.
“T-Thank you, President.” She lowered a mirror, still red, but she was glowing at the praise.
As she uncovered her face, Kirari noticed the smallest smudges of blue on her lower lip. It was hardly anything, but the sight of it had her own cheeks flushing. She was tempted to let Sayaka go about her day like that, to let her find it herself later on, but others could spot it. Kirari just couldn’t have that. Stepping into Sayaka’s space, she brought a hand up, cupping her face as had been done to her. She both felt and heard the hitch in Sayaka’s breath. With remorse, her thumb wiped the blue away. She felt the heat of her secretary’s blood, her skin freshly blooming like a rose. Even when the blue was long gone, her strokes didn’t stop.
And then the doors flew open.
Kirari tore her gaze away from Sayaka’s scrunched face to the entrance of the room. At the threshold was her sister, masked, standing eerily still.
As if nothing had transpired before Ririka walked in, the younger twin welcomed her into the room. “Ah, Ririka. Perfect timing.” She gestured to the stool she had just occupied. “Come, sit. Sayaka just trimmed my hair. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind doing the same to you, would you, Sayaka?”
“N-Not at all, Vice President.” The secretary looked towards the floor, not willing to meet either twin in the eye.
The masked twin began turning to leave. “No, thank you—”
A set of hands fell on her shoulders and began to push her to the stool.
“Going so soon? It’ll be quick, I assure you.” Kirari wrestled her down onto the stool then pulled the mask off, revealing her own face.
Except it wasn’t her face, it was her sister’s. It was her sister’s soft baby blues that looked up at the two of them. It was her sister’s cheeks that flushed at their intimate moment. It was her sister’s petal pink lips that gaped as Kirari draped Sayaka’s red blazer, now covered in tiny white hair clippings, around her.
“It’ll only be a moment,” Kirari said again.
She stepped aside, letting Sayaka do her work and watched. Oh, how she hated what she was seeing.
Just as Sayaka had done to her, she leaned over her sister. Her hands worked meticulously. Brush, snip, Brush, snip. Was it necessary to get that close? Dark brows furrowed as they did when she focused on a task. She watched as Sayaka evened out the cuts. More white clippings littered the blazer and Kirari was regretting not offering her own. She kept her eyes on them while she poured herself cold tea from the kettle. And to make her miserable experience drinking cold tea more miserable, she had to watch Sayaka gently brush away fallen clippings from her twin’s face. When she was that close, did Sayaka also think that Ririka’s lashes were so pretty?
What should have only been a moment felt like an eternity. She had finished another cup of cold tea by the time it was over. The second Sayaka stepped back and proclaimed Ririka’s haircut to be satisfactory, Kirari removed the jacket. She dusted it off as Ririka was handed the mirror. It was exactly the length it should be, matching her own cut perfectly.
“You may go now, Ririka,” she told her, taking the mirror away. She practically shooed her own sister to the doors.
The older twin mumbled a quick, “thank you,” to her secretary before the doors closed and they were left alone once more.
Kirari came up to her secretary, habitually invading her space and running her fingers through inky tresses of silk. “Sayaka, cancel all of my upcoming hair appointments, and don’t bother scheduling any for the future. But let Ririka’s appointments be.”
“Y-Yes, President. Anything else?”
“Oh, yes.” How could she forget? “I need a list of your hygiene products. All of them, please. Do try not to forget any.”
“Yes, President.”