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“You’re both so sweet, ohhhh my adorable little babies!” a woman (their mother?) gushes. He and Kako, not even kindergarten age, cram together on one stool as the figure behind them brushes, twirls, and braids their pale-pink hair. Squirming under a comb, Ima looks in the vanity mirror, and runs his fat little index down from his crown, soaking up his hair’s softness, and feels bubbles in his chest at his sister’s giggling as the woman coaxes her waterfall of pink into knotted-pigtails.
*
The bathroom in the pod is designed for quick trips, so the water blasts out of the sleek, chrome-coloured tap with instant pressure that leaves Ima wincing. Firm hands hold him steady as he blinks beneath the chilling-cold onslaught. He watches it come off his head in parts, dark glop that had been weighing on him for so long being driven down into the drain and disappearing from this world and the next.
*
“My, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” a woman (who Ima prays is nobody’s mother) coos, running her manicured hand up his bare leg. He, not even middle-school age, leans back nude onto the rented bed, face the picture of the puckish tease. This newest client promised she wouldn’t be rough, but Ima already feels a primal fear boiling within him as she tangles her expensively done fingernails in his darkened locks, barking out laughter when she encounters roots where the dye has faded and revealed Sister Dearest’s hair colour. Ima feels himself burn with humiliation and shame. He would have to fix that as soon as he was done.
Sister Dearest has done nothing to deserve looking anything like a stain upon the Earth, such as him.
*
“Aight, I think it’s done?” Mr. Yakushiji lets go of Ima’s soaked neck, stepping back to let him stand. The sink is a mess, caked with the vestiges of it. Ima squeezes his eyes shut as he adjusts himself, still not sure if he should look.
Sister – no, never again – Kako comes to his side, a laugh of joy carrying her words. “It's great! Just like when we were kids!”. Her hand finds Ima’s, holding on tightly in reassurance. Suddenly feeling as young as he is, Ima looks into the mirror.
They’re identical again.
Ima instinctively runs his fingers through pale-pink that feels so very real, and remembers kindness from long ago.
They’re back, and he can’t wait to show it off to the uglies outside like Mr. Maruko.
Back to being adorable Ima and Kako.