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Makoto's hair was growing out. He felt it like an itch, slowly crawling down his neck to meet his shoulders. It was an invasive species of plant that needed to be hacked away at to stop its spread.
Looking in the mirror, he was reminded of how he used to feel peering at his reflection. There was no oozing sense of rawness, but a subtle discomfort. At the time, he had assumed it was because he lacked self-confidence. If only I looked like this, then I would surely feel whole. The right hair, the right makeup, the right style. But no matter what he tried, nothing felt right.
That, and he was fascinated with boys. His mother had said that was normal for his age, and it meant he had a crush. So he, not knowing otherwise, simply believed her. He caught himself looking at them a lot, mesmerized by their looks or their body language. It had taken him years to realize it wasn't about attraction (as that took time for him to gain), but rather admiration. He didn't want a boy. He wanted to be one.
And so, he was a boy. There had been trial and error along the way, of course. Even though his appearance had changed so completely, some people still perceived him wrong. Even if every other indicator of social gender dictated otherwise, they would see his chest or his hips and think they were the truth. They were vestiges, like a tailbone. Leftover parts that were unnecessary, but a hassle to remove.
The hair made him quite dysphoric. A bit irrational, maybe, but he didn't think it was entirely wrong to get paranoid about. He wanted to feel like himself. Whole. Not like two puzzle pieces crudely shoved together, the ends filed down to make them work together.
After three depression showers in one week, Yukari took notice. Turns out the dorm didn't have infinite hot water, which became suddenly apparent when he heard a shrill shriek of "Cold!" It was followed by feet stomping down the hallway and harsh knocking at his door. "Yuki Makoto," she had huffed through audible chattering. Quietly, he opened the door. "What–" was all she could get out before tears streamed down his cheeks.
She softened immediately. "Hey, what...?" Yukari huffed, leaning against the door jamb. She had clearly rushed to get dressed. Makoto felt cold looking at her.
"Go... put on something warm..." He shoved a sleeve through his tear tracks.
"Geez," she muttered, but she took the suggestion easily. A few minutes later, she came back in pajamas, looking considerably warmer. "Now will you tell me what's wrong?"
He shifted from foot to foot. He was unsure exactly how to put it into words. How could he make it sound reasonable?
"You're thinking too hard." Yukari gently flicked his forehead. "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."
It took a little time for Makoto to gather his thoughts. Finally, he managed to get some words out. "I... My hair is too long...?"
She was quiet a moment. Then, she smiled like a shared secret. "That's it? You could have just told me. Go in the bathroom– the men's bathroom, should be fine if no one goes in there and we leave the door open. Wait for me. I need to get supplies."
The supplies in question were a comb, a few clips, and a pair of scissors. The pale pink finish on the scissors was chipped with age. "No promises. I can't tell you whether it will look any good."
"Doesn't have to look good. Just needs to be short."
"Eh. Makes it easier for me. How do you want your hair parted?"
"Don't care."
"Oh, so you want a center part, then."
He immediately recoiled. "Hell no."
Yukari chuckled. "Thought so. Side part it is." She parted his hair, keeping it in place with the clips.
"For now, let me snip the longer pieces... I'm going to cut a little bit at a time so it's easier to fix any mistakes. Dad taught me that one."
"Your dad taught you how to cut hair?"
"He gave me haircuts as a kid. He would talk about what he was doing while he did so I wouldn't freak out. I used to bawl when I got my hair cut, everyone who did it would be really rough on my hair." Her voice got quieter. "The way he did it was gentle. He always took his time."
Makoto opened his mouth to say something, anything, to be a salve for her pain. She brushed past the entire tangent, though.
"Anywayyyyyy." Close to his ears, he heard the scissors snp. He jolted, then she held his head in place to steady him. "Geez, do you want to lose an ear or something?"
He took a deep breath and tried to relax.
"I get it, you know...?" As she cut, she spoke softly. No one was in the lounge, but he could tell she was minding her volume. "When I told my mom I wanted longer hair, she didn't get it. She said it was for girls. I don't really think so. I've seen some cute guys with long hair. But she was pretty strict about it. When my dad cut my hair behind her back, she flipped out, but when I got upset, I think that's when it finally started to sink in for her.
"He was the one who named me, you know. Both times, but I like this one better." She smiled. She sounded the way she did when she was. It made his heart feel warm. "It has the kanji for reason. I think he was trying to tell me that... those feelings, then, existed for a reason."
"Okay, progress check." She held a compact mirror in front of him. "I think you look good so far. Is it still too long?"
"Maybe a bit more?"
"On it."
"A reason, huh?" He shut his eyes.
"Yeah... the reason I wanted to change my hair, at least... It was because I wanted to be seen as myself. It felt wrong when it was that short."
"That's how I feel. It's like wearing shoes that are too tight, you know...? It feels off. People– You know, never mind."
"After I talked about all that stuff? No. Go on. It's only fair."
He sighed. "People assume so much about someone, whether they know them or not. They have this image of you in their mind. Based on how you look, or what you do or say around them. They never... they never think to look deeper, do they?"
She stopped cutting. Yukari walked around so she was in front of him. "Hey, some people do. I do. If you want me to, anyway. You're kinda closed off."
"...Right."
"But I get what you mean. Some people think appearances are everything." She returned to her previous spot behind him. She slowly cleared the foliage, making a path up his neck. Makoto felt a bit like a hedge for a moment, being trimmed into a particular shape. That made Yukari a gardener, who pruned and cultivated him to improve his growth.
His head was no longer heavy with the weight of his hair. Without seeing the results, he said, "You can stop now." He could breathe again. "...Thanks, Yukari."
"Aw, you got it. Hey, I'm willing to teach you, too!"
He looked at her, nonplussed. "You want something out of it."
"...Maybe I have some trouble cutting the hair on the back of my head?"