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“Hizashi, love, when are you going to come out of the bathroom? It’s really not that bad! I can touch up the ends so their even if you want? Can you please open the door, love? Please?”
Hizashi didn’t know what to say to his husband’s soft pleading through the bathroom door. His eyes were fixed on the mirror; the reflection showing someone he hadn’t seen in years. Someone younger. Someone more vulnerable. He didn’t know how much time he’d spent staring at himself, but the image didn’t fade away. Didn’t wash away. He stared at himself when his hands squeezed the edge of the counter. He needed to respond to Shouta. “I-I’ll be out in a minute!”
“You said that twenty minutes ago! Zashi, love, please open the door? I know you think it’s bad and I know you think it’s probably the end of the world but it’s not! Please? I know your catastrophizing in there and I don’t want you to-to be alone! Please, open the door?” Open the door? How can he let his husband, let alone anyone else, see him like this? He tensed at the idea of letting his husband in the bathroom when there was a soft thud on the wood. “Zashi?”
He didn’t want to let his husband see him like this. In one day, he lost the beautiful locks he’d been growing since high school and his mustache he’d kept styled and groomed since his early twenties. His face was bare of any mustache which he’d had to shave away. Half of it had been burnt off by Endeavor’s flames. His hair had been shorn from his shoulders. It stood wildly, unevenly, above his shoulders in an awkward shoulder length bob. “Shouta-”
“Please? I promise, I’ve seen worse, love. Can’t you open the door? Please? Please, love?” His voice sounded closer; was his head resting against the door? He didn’t know but he had to think that it was given how close his husband’s voice was. He felt his hands twitching on the edge of the sink with his gaze tearing from his bare face. From his awful bob; one side shorter than the other.
It had his eyes pricking when he then turned from the mirror to the bathroom door with his hands holding onto the edge of the sink. He didn’t want his husband to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this. How could he? The cut was awful. His face looked younger without the help of his mustache. He didn’t know how to face his husband like this. He’d rushed into the bathroom before his husband could see him. “Shouta, I don’t think I can-”
“You can.” Two words. Two little words that made his throat tighten as his hands let go of the sink and he stepped forward. Pressing his hands to the bathroom door; the wood was cool beneath his palms and fingers. He sniffed in slowly then he looked down with his lips pinching together. He didn’t want to reject his husband. He didn’t want to make him feel bad but how can he show himself? “Zashi, love, if there’s anyone who can do it, you can. Please, open the door?”
His hands trembled at the thought of opening the door despite having previously saying he’d be out in a minute. He swallowed around his thick throat with his fingers curling slightly with his nails digging into the wood. He felt his lip wobble slightly with his eyes burning as he looked down. His husband couldn’t love him like this. Would laugh at him, surely. “Do-Do you promise that you won’t laugh? Do you promise that you won’t make fun of me?”
“How could I ever do that, love? How could I ever make fun of you?” Shouta’s voice was sure and strong; quickly becoming the center of his world but he felt his heart screaming at him not to open the door. To take care of this awful bob job by himself and then hope he can hide it beneath a hat. He could pencil in a mustache, if need be, but it’d look odd. “Zashi, I would never make fun of you. I know what you’re dealing with; it’s a loss. It doesn’t matter if it’s vain or anything, you’re dealing with a loss. I want to see you.”
A loss. Perhaps this was yet another loss in his very long life of losses. Oboro. Nemuri. Tensei’s ability to walk. Shouta’s eye and leg. And here he was, choking up over some hair. Was it right of him to be so sad about losing his hair? About losing his mustache? He didn’t know but he pressed his forehead to the door lightly when he took a slow breath in then let it out slowly. “Okay. Okay! You promise you’ll help clean my hair up? Because it’s-it’s kind of wonky.”
“I’ll do my absolute best, love, to make it evened out. I’ve been cutting my hair for years, you know that. I know the basics of it, at least.” He swallowed then pulled his forehead from the door and reached down with trembling fingers to the doorknob. Swallowing as he bit down his lower lip when he touched the lock delicately between his fingers. The metal cool beneath his fingertips. “I promise though, there’s nothing that will make me laugh or make fun of you. So, open the door, please?”
“Okay.” He breathed the word out uncertainly then flipping the lock gently with a click. He half expected his husband to flip the lock and to open the door for him, but the black-haired man didn’t do such a thing. Instead, the black-haired man seemed to wait on the other side of the door. Letting him take the steps. He grabbed the doorhandle and twisted then took a breath in then out. He tugged the door open as he stepped backwards to reveal his husband.
Shouta’s hands slipped down from the door, his black brows pinched together tightly, and a soft frown on his lips. His mismatched eyes widening at him with black lashes fluttering in a blink when hands reached out towards him. Hands stretching to touch his cheeks gently with fingertips skimming over his cheekbones beneath his glasses. Nudging them upwards when he felt his eyes stinging. Beginning to well up as his husband cupped his face. “Oh, Zashi.”
“See? It’s awful! It’s horrible and I’m ugly because of it! But oh, thank God I didn’t get my throat slit, right? It’s just hair, right?” He babbled the words he’d been hearing before he’d returned home as tears welled on his lashes, smearing the world. Smearing the sight of his husband standing before him and the worried expression on his face. Smearing him into smudges of color as tears clung to his lashes. “It’s just hair and yet it’s all gone. It’s all gone, Sho!”
“Oh, Zashi, love, you could never in a million years be ugly to me.” That did it. The tears on his lashes spilled down his cheeks in hot, quick lines down his cheeks when Shouta’s thumbs moved to wipe his cheeks dry, but it merely had more tears dripping down his cheeks when he felt his lip tremble horribly. Fiercely. “You can never be ugly. Yes, I’ll thank God you didn’t get your throat slit. That you aren’t in the hospital. I’m not going to say it’s just hair because it was your hair. It meant something to you, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, it did!” He got out in a choked voice with a sniffle as tears trickled down his cheeks when his husband’s hands pulled at him gently. He let his head hang forward and Shouta’s forehead pressed against his own when the hands on his face dropped away and arms curled around his waist. Pulling him close as another tear dripped down his cheek. Running down to his jaw where they dripped off. Rolled down his throat. “Shouta, it’s all gone. I spent years growing it and-and-!”
“I know, love. I know.” Arms tightened around him when he let out a hiccup before sliding his forehead from Shouta’s and buried his face into his shoulder. As if it could somehow stop the tears from dripping down. He was a man. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He isn’t supposed to sob over some lost hair. He isn’t supposed to fall apart like this. And yet the hands on his back sliding up and down were far more comforting than anything. “It’s okay to cry, love.”
“It’s not! ‘m supposed to be a man! Men don’t cry over hair!” He protested into his husband’s shoulder when those arms held him all the tighter with hands sliding up and down on his back. He slid his arms around his husband to hold onto him tightly with his fingers twisting and gripping fistfuls of his husband’s shirt into his hands. Holding onto him tightly with tears smearing his vision. “A man isn’t so attached to-to hair, and he certainly doesn’t cry!”
“Zashi, love, you’ve had your hair for years. You’ve been growing it out since you were what? Sixteen? Seventeen?” Arms squeezed him gently as tears dripped down his cheeks that felt far too hot for his liking as he nodded with his face pressing into his husband’s shoulder with his eyes burning. Welling with tears again and again that dripped down. “If that’s the case then you deserve to cry over it. You can cry all you want, love, and I won’t judge you, alright? It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or not. You can cry.”
He tightened his arms around Shouta with a sniffle as he struggled to keep his nose from running and soaking into his husband’s shirt. His tears were already dripping down to soak into the fabric of his shirt, but the black-haired man merely held him all the tighter. Squeezed him close to that broad chest of his. He wanted to bury his face into his husband’s shoulder and hide himself away from the shame. “You pro-promise? You promise it’s okay?”
“I promise. You can cry all you want, love.” A hand then came up and touched his short hair. And God, if it didn’t have him hiccupping out a sob with that hand stroking his wonkily cut hair; fingers touching the nape of his neck. It was wrong. It shouldn’t be like that. He squeezed his eyes shut with tears trickling down his cheeks when he pressed his face into Shouta’s shoulder. “It’s alright, love. It’ll be alright, okay? How about I neaten it up, huh? And then we can order out for dinner?”
He couldn’t stop himself from hiccupping out another sob into his husband’s shoulder with tears trickling down his cheeks. This man was too kind. Was too nice. Even when he was gruff and emotionless, the black-haired man knew the right things to say to get him tearing up. To get him sobbing into his shoulder when he took a long breath through his nose. Sniffling. He then lifted his head just enough to speak. “Can we take a shower afterwards? Please?”
“Of course we can, love.” Shouta’s hand stroked over his short hair with tears dripping down his cheek when he blinked and he pulled back to look into his husband’s face. There was a soft smile on those full lips when Shouta then pinched a lock framing his face and tugging on it gently; the same way he would if they were longer. It had a sob bubbling up his throat when Shouta’s soft smile wavered. “How about we go cut your hair now, yeah? And I’ll start the shower?”
He took a slow, deep breath in that trembled on the way down with his arms tightening around his husband. He knew that this was inevitable. He needed to get his hair evened out by the black-haired man and he needed to get in the shower afterwards. But at least Shouta would be with him. Shouta would take care of him, wouldn’t he? He swallowed down that sob when he nodded at his husband in response. “Okay, let’s go get that done, then. I want it over and done with.”
“It’ll be fast, love, I promise. I know exactly where the kit is and I’ll make quick work with evening out your hair, alright?” Hands slid up and down his back; rubbing gently to calm him down with fingers pressing into his back softly when he smiled softly at the black-haired man. He nodded again when Shouta’s fingers pressed into him; rolling circles that made the tense muscles relax when he took a breath in then out.
He pulled his arms from around his husband to reach up and rub his hands over his wet cheeks. Rubbing his fingers into his eyes with wet lashes beneath his fingers as he scrubbed his eyes firmly when he then wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks. He then held his hand out.
The black-haired man’s hand slipped into his; thick fingers interlocking with his own. The warmth of his palm pressing against his own gently had him melting. He squeezed his husband’s hand when the black-haired man raised a hand up and brushed away a stray tear on his cheek.
Shouta then turned to tug him around their big bed. The air on the back of his neck felt amazing different and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He missed the heavy curtain of his hair. He missed styling his mustache. He wanted his hair back. He squeezed his husband’s hand as they walked around the bed.
Moving across the floor with feed thudding softly on the carpeted floor as he held onto his husband’s hand. They made their way across the room to the bedroom doors that hung open from Shouta no doubt as they squeezed past it into the small hallway.
The hand in his squeezing when he dared to sniff. He let Shouta tug him down the short hallway into their small kitchen when the hand in his slid away and Shouta padded into the small dining room to grab a chair. He walked back into the small kitchen and placed the chair down for him to sit in.
He looked to his husband who nodded softly, and he took his seat. Shouta then took off across the kitchen to the front hallway. The black-haired man rushed down the hallway to the living room. He fidgeted slightly in his chair with his fingers twisting into his pants.
Fighting the urge to burst into tears again. He didn’t want to keep crying this afternoon but God if the grief wasn’t strangling him. If it didn’t have his lip wobbling but he bit down on it to keep the reaction under control. He twisted his fingers into his pants to hold onto it.
The black-haired man then reappeared in the hallway with a black case in his hands. Shouta walked back into the softly lit kitchen, flicking the light on for additional light, and the black-haired man walked behind him to place the case down on the counter.
He looked over as he watched his husband open it up and pull out the scissors, a comb, and one of those hair clips. He swallowed then looked away when his husband then stood behind him. And the comb was then tugging through his hair gently; pulling on the locks.
Just enough to get his head tilting backwards instinctively. Pulling through his hair until it laid right as the black-haired man continued to gently tug the comb through his hair. Brushing his hair out gently again and again like he would any other day when they got home from work.
There was nothing he loves more than letting his husband brush out his hair after he takes a shower. Even if his hair was no longer as long, there was something familiar about the way his husband was gently combing and parting his hair on either side of his face.
Tugging the comb through his hair with a tug that had his head tilting backwards into his husband’s hands gently. And then his husband began humming; he wasn’t sure what song it was, but it was a comforting one. One that he’d heard his husband humming in the shower before.
He held his head still as the comb tugged through his hair. Gently nicking his ears but being mindful of his hearing aids. The black-haired man continued combing his hair out then the clip of the long black hair beret into his hair. He held his breath when his husband gently combed and then the dreaded sound.
A lock was held up followed by the metallic snip of the scissors close by his ear. He choked back a small sound in the back of his throat as his husband began snipping his hair slowly, carefully, along the right side of his head. Snipping his hair with metallic snips filling his ear.
He imagined the way his hair would be fluttering down to the floor. The blonde rings it had to be making on the tiles. He fought the tears back, swallowing around the knot in his throat, as he held himself perfectly still for his husband who snipped his hair.
Cutting it to match the left side. He wanted to cry. To sob again. He had only done it the slightest bit but already he wanted to sob and beg for his hair to come back. To grow out once more. It was all that he wanted but he wasn’t sure if he’d get his wish answered.
He swallowed thickly while his husband continued to snip his hair before pulling the beret out of it. And then the black-haired man began gently snipping at the left side; the metallic snips were loud in his ear, and he wanted to cry. He didn’t know how even it was going to be.
How it was going to look afterwards but he trusted his husband. There was no one he trusted more than Shouta to get his hair cut and to get it evened out. There was no one who would be so meticulous and would make sure that his hair was perfectly even.
His husband used to trim his own hair when he was younger, and he had gotten good at it. So, the trust truly wasn’t outlandish or blind. He swallowed against the knot of emotion in his throat, however, with his fingers twisted into the fabric of his pants.
Listening to the metallic snips of the scissors so close to his hearing aids. He could feel wisps of hair falling onto his shoulders. He took a trembling breath in and then out with his fingers plucking at the fabric of his pants with his thumbs wiggling slightly.
His face felt itchy from the tear tracks that had been rubbed away. His eyes itchy as well and his nose felt full. He wanted nothing more than to blow his nose out and wipe his eyes. His lenses were smattered with delicate circles that came from the tears on his lashes.
He felt tired. His head was aching from the long day that he’d had, and he wanted nothing more than to nap and forget it had ever happened. He wanted to pretend for just a moment that he still had his hair and his mustache. That he was merely getting the ends of his hair snipped.
Shouta snipped at his hair gently and then began to work on the back of his head. Making sure that his hair was even, no doubt. He hated how light his head felt. He hated the air that he felt brushing against his neck. His throat. He hated the lack of weight spilling down his back.
Hated that his hair was gone. He didn’t want to think of how empty his top lip felt without his little mustache that he’d grown for God knows how long. He fought the urge to shrink in his chair as his husband snipped at his hair. He glanced down and he got the blurry view of blonde rings on the floor.
He took a breath in then out as his husband continued snipping. Dragging the comb through his hair to make sure that all was even. The tug was nice; it was familiar, but it was far, far too short. Did he have a right to be so upset about this? He knew it was his hair or his throat.
And what would have happened if his throat had been slit? Who would take care of their cats? Who would clean the house? Who would help teach Eri more about her feelings? Who would talk to Hitoshi on those late summer nights? Who would take care of Shouta?
Who would make sure he ate? That he washed his hair? That he washed his face? Who would take care of his small family if it had been his throat that had been slit? But did this mean he shouldn’t be upset about his hair? Or was it alright that he was so upset about his hair?
Was it okay to be vain about this one thing that he had been so vain about in the past? He adored his long locks. He adored his little mustache. And while Shouta complained about it, he knew the black-haired man loved his hair too. That he loved his ‘stupid little mustache’ as Shouta called it.
He bit on his trembling lower lip as he closed his eyes to fight off the burn of tears when he then curled his hands into fists on his thighs. The comb ran through his hair, snipping at his hair and trimming the ends of it. He felt tears threatening to bubble on his lashes.
Felt the knot of emotion in his throat as his husband snipped at his hair delicately. The comb tugging gently through his hair again with a pull that had him slumping into the chair slightly as his husband snipped at the ends of his hair. Cutting his hair when the comb tugged through it again.
He felt the floor tremble lightly as his husband stepped backwards. Peering at his hair, no doubt, when the black-haired man then walked over the floor with a clatter of items being put down. And then, as he peeked over at him, the black-haired man was walking forward with a brush in hand.
And he began to sweep it over his neck and shoulders. Getting the wisps of hair off of his shoulders and shirt, no doubt. He held still while his husband gently brushed him off making sure to get the hair off of him, no doubt, and he was more than happy to be done with the hair cutting.
More than happy to be done with the strange grief he felt twisting into his chest. The sadness that clogged up his throat and made it hard to swallow. Made it hard to think as his husband gently brushed him off then shuffled behind him again. Moving out of sight.
And before he knew it, the comb was being pulled through his hair. The teeth of the comb scratching his scalp just enough to get him shivering with his toes curling against the kitchen floor. There were a few metallic snips of the scissors close to his ear.
No doubt trimming up the ends and making sure it was even. He couldn’t choke down the knot of emotion that he felt in his throat as his husband snipped at his hair again in gentle snips. He couldn’t help but feel like he was saying goodbye to an old friend.
He was saying goodbye to something he’d groomed, primped and loved for years. Was it alright to grieve over hair? Was it alright to feel so heavy despite how light his head felt? His hair hadn’t been this short since he was a teenager and he didn’t know how to feel about it.
With a few more of those metallic snips, his husband was running the comb through his hair gently and then shuffling behind him. The clatter of items being pushed around the kit and then his husband reached under the sink for their dustpan. He looked down at himself.
At the wisps of blonde hair clinging to his chest and clothing. At the soft blonde ringlets of hair on the kitchen floor that his husband was sweeping up. How he longed to gather it from his husband’s hands and wail over it. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to his hair.
The black-haired man was sweeping it up like it was nothing. His throat felt unbearably tight as he watched Shouta sweep it up then shuffle to the trashcan and dump the hair out. His husband closed the lid to the trashcan, resting the pan and hand brush down before turning to him.
There was a soft, unreadable expression on his husband’s face when he stepped forward towards him. closing the space. Knees pressing together gently when his husband’s hands reached up and cupped his face. His thumbs rubbing over his cheekbones gently.
Palms pressing firmly to his cheeks with his glasses nudging up gently. And thumbs snuck beneath the frames to gently run beneath his eyes; as if to gather tears up. And he was surprised when his husband’s thumbs came away wet when the black-haired man’s face fell.
Shouta then leaned forward to kiss his forehead softly. A soft brush of full lips against his skin that felt unbearably amazing as his thumbs continued to rub gently beneath his eyes. And then Shouta’s hands were sliding from his cheeks, and he was turning to the counter.
To the kit. And before he could breathe a word of protest, Shouta was reaching up and grabbing his hair. Scraping it together like he was intending to tug it into a ponytail only, instead, his husband grabbed the metal scissors. Then, before a protest could leave his lips, his husband was sawing through his hair.
The sound of scissors cutting through hair was loud in the kitchen as he watched in shock as those beautiful black curls that he so adored were sawed off by his husband. Cutting through the bunch, his husband got through it, and he was left in silent shock.
His husband’s once long, beautiful black curls were now just barely scraping his jaw. It was an awful bob with the ends needing to be trimmed and cleaned up, but the hair was gone. His husband’s hair was shorter than it had been when they were in high school.
And the sight of it, for some reason, had tears welling on his lashes causing the kitchen to smear. His husband to become a smear of color as he lifted his hands up to push his glasses out of the way when tears dripped down his cheeks. A choked sound making its way from the back of his throat.
His husband marched to the trashcan, moving the dustpan and brush. Tossing away those beautiful curls into the trash like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t his hair that had meant so much to the both of them. He lifted his hands up to his husband with a pitiful sound leaving him.
Shouta placed the scissors on the lid of the trashcan. And in mere steps, the black-haired man was in his arms; his arms sliding around his waist to hold him close as he spread his thighs and pressed his face into his husband’s chest. His tears dripping down shamelessly.
Soaking into his husband’s shirt. He hiccupped into his husband’s chest with a hand sliding over his freshly cut hair and his lashes fluttered. He could hear the soft murmured words of his husband; it was just hair, it didn’t have to mean anything, and that it was okay.
That he’d be okay. They’d both be okay and his hair would grow out again if he wanted it too. That his pretty hair would come back. And he was sure it would, but Shouta’s beautiful curls were gone. They were gone. Just like his own hair and it brought a grief unlike anything into his chest.
He squeezed the black-haired man tightly. Pushing his wet face into his husband’s chest tightly with whimpers, little choked sounds, leaving himself in hiccupped sounds. Something that merely had the arms around his shoulders holding him tighter. As it to hold him together.
The hand on the back of his head pushing his face tightly into that broad chest of his as his tears soaked his husband’s shirt. It had to be uncomfortable, but his husband didn’t say a word about it. He held onto his husband, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt.
Holding onto his husband like he was the only thing that kept him from floating away. The only thing that was keeping him from losing himself. He was the one consistent thing that he needed in his life, and he wanted to hold the black-haired man close, close, close.
He didn’t know how to feel about his husband cutting off his curls like that. No, he was wrong. He did. And it was heartbreaking; he didn’t want to think on how he felt but his heart was breaking in his chest all over again as he held onto his husband like he was a life raft.
An anchor.
Gripping fistfuls of his shirt in his hands tightly with whimpers spilling out of him. Pitiful little sounds that he couldn’t stop himself from making as he clung onto his husband desperately. The black-haired man didn’t complain. Instead, that hand continued stroking his hair.
Combing through it gently with his heart aching in his chest when the black-haired man kissed the top of his head. Careful of his glasses on top of his head, thankfully. And then, as if to soothe him, they began to rock gently from side to side awkwardly but it was appreciated.
He couldn’t stop that grief from surging up and choking him. From strangling him in its grip. He’d thought the few tears he let out in the bathroom would be it but here he was, crying like a damn baby over his husband cutting his hair. Over the loss of his own hair.
Didn’t want to keep feeling so intensely over some hair, but he couldn’t help it. His hair had been with him since high school. He’d been growing it out for years. He deserved a little cry, didn’t he? He sniffled into his husband’s shirt, his nose running horribly, when they broke apart.
Shouta’s hand came up to touch his wet cheek. Stroking beneath his eye then his lashes to rid them of the tears there. His nose once again felt full, and he wanted to blow his nose. His husband, as if sensing that, shuffled out of his arms and snagged a few paper towels and handed them to him.
He stuffed the against his face; rubbing his eyes and cheeks fiercely to rid them of the itchy lines and the swollen feeling to his eyes the best he could. He then blew his nose loudly into the tissues stuffed against his face when he sniffled and his husband took the tissues from him to throw away.
Sliding the pan and brush to the floor to lean against the trash and then picking the metal scissors up. His husband’s hair was slightly uneven, and he found himself standing up with his wet lashes tickling his cheeks when he blinked. He brought his glasses down into place on his nose.
And he walked around the chair to rest his hands on the back. Shouta turned to him, blinking at him, then smiling softly. He didn’t need much touching up, not like himself, but the black-haired man sat in the chair and handed over the scissors for him to hold.
He shuffled to the counter where he snagged the comb and walked back to his husband. Gently running it through the black locks, he tugged gently and made sure his hair laid flat before he began snipping the ends. Wisps of black hair falling on his husband’s shoulders.
Tumbling down his upper back, he squeezed the handles of the scissors as he pinched hair between his middle and index finger. Making sure to cut his husband’s hair evenly as he could get it as he sniffled from time to time. Struggling to keep the tears down where they belonged.
He snipped at the ends of his husband’s hair. It truly didn’t take much to even his husband’s hair out; he’d been pretty even when he snipped his hair off. He walked to the kit on the kitchen counter, stuffing the comb and scissors into it. Then he flipped it shut and flipped the clip into place.
His husband stood from the chair with wisps of hair falling down his shoulders and back when he turned back to the man. Shouta grabbed the pan and handle brush to sweep up the wisps of hair and small rings of hair gently before tossing them into the trash.
Resting the dustpan on the trash’s lid again, the black-haired man then turned to him. The way his hair fell over his right eye was different. It was strange seeing his husband with a bob of all things, but the black-haired man then held his hand out. Just like he had in the bedroom.
He sniffled again then slid his hand into his husband’s and let the black-haired man tug him forward. His chest ached as they walked across the small kitchen together. Their feet thudding over the floor, when they skimmed past the freezer to their little hallway.
The hand in his squeezing softly as he stared at his husband’s short locks with a pang in his chest. He hated that his husband felt the need to cut it all off, but he felt the tiniest bit touched his husband was willing to do that for him. Even if he didn't fully understand it.
And he squeezed his husband’s hand back as he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, the edge of his sleeve. Padding after his husband as they entered the bedroom again where they paused to shut the doors and flip the lock. Then Shouta was walking with brisk strides that he matched.
The air on his neck was unnerving, the way his hair swayed against his throat strange, as he let his husband tug him forward. They walked around their big bed together towards their bathroom; his feet thudding over the carpeted floor with Shouta’s as they made their way forward.
He held onto his husband’s hand like it was a lifeline with his fingers interweaving with Shouta’s as they walked into their small bathroom. The light flicking on with a soft golden hue, his husband kept his hand in his as he watched his husband walk to the shower and stick his hand past the curtain.
Turning the water on, it burst from the showerhead to pound against the shower wall and floor. Then his husband was turning towards him with a soft, warm little smile on his lips; something that threatened to make his lip quiver, but he bit at it to stop the reaction.
His eyes felt itchy and swollen. His cheeks itchy from the tears that had dripped down them. Wet spots on his husband’s shirt from his nose and eyes. The hand in his squeezed as the drumming water filled the space between them when it slipped from his.
Hands tracing his waist gently with hands pushing his shirt upwards gently. Exposing his skin to the cool air of the bathroom but he slowly raised his arms up as his husband pushed his shirt up further. Bunching it up carefully, he held his arms up as his husband worked his shirt up.
Lifting it over his head and around his ears carefully. It was then dropped in a heap onto the floor with fingers skimming his sides with a gentle touch down to his waist. Fingers curled into the waistband of his pants. He let his husband work his pants down from his hips to his thighs.
Knees to his ankles. He placed his hands on Shouta’s shoulders as he stepped out of his pants carefully as he was stripped bare. Shouta straightened up when he reached for his husband’s waist where his t-shirt rested over it. Pushing it up over his stomach, he lifted and bunched that shirt up.
Towards his husband’s chest as arms raised up and he tugged at his husband’s shirt. Pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor, already missing the bounce and sway of his husband’s long curls. He reached down to curl his fingers into his husband’s waistband.
The black-haired man reached up to touch his cheek. Leaning in to kiss softly at the other with kisses that melted him through to his core when he began to push his husband’s pants down. Sliding them from his hips down to his thighs then to his knees.
The metal of his prosthetic glinting in the light as he pushed his pants down from his knees down to his ankles. His husband’s hands pressed to his shoulders as he stepped out of his pants which he helped with and then tossed them across the floor carelessly.
Standing skin to skin with the black-haired man stepping away then wincing as he sat on the closed toilet seat. He helped his husband work his prosthetic off, the sleeves coming off with it when they then turned to the shower. His husband standing up again.
And he pulled the shower curtain back then wrapped his arms around Shouta’s waist. Lifting him up and setting him into the shower beneath the pounding water when he reached up to turn his hearing aids off and working them out of his ears gently one at a time.
His glasses coming off of them with them as he shut the bathroom door gently. The silence was deafening around him when he turned back to the shower where his husband held his dripping hands out. And he was rushing forward without thinking twice about it.
So many tears have been shed this afternoon and his eyes felt like they were swollen with each blink. He climbed into the shower with his husband, and he pulled the curtain shut to cut off the rest of the bathroom from them. The water soaked into his hair but it felt wrong.
It should be plastered to his shoulders and back. It should be long wet tendrils on his skin. His husband must have understood that for he leaned forward, a hand coming to his cheek while kissing the other. Soft kisses trailing down his cheek to his jaw softly.
He lifted his arms up to curl around broad shoulders as their wet skin slid together pleasantly with that thumb moving over his cheek softly. He tilted his face towards his husband’s palm while kisses were trailed over his jaw softly. Kisses that made his stomach flutter.
That made his heart jump in his chest for the first time today with each soft kiss that was placed along his jaw by his husband. Shouta kissed at his neck softly with kisses that had him shivering as he kissed at his husband’s cheek softly. He felt absolutely tired.
Exhausted from his crying stints today and he found his lashes fluttering on his cheeks as he leaned into his husband. A thumb moving over his cheekbone softly when Shouta’s left hand pressed to his waist and with little prompting, he got a squeeze. A light push.
He slid his arms from around his husband’s shoulders and spun on his feet with water sloshing over them as he faced the water. It beat down his chest, the heat sending shivers through him. He was going to need to wash his face with cold water at some point tonight.
He felt his husband moving behind him when he tilted his head back to let the water pound down his throat gently. And then hands were burying themselves into his hair; fingers curling to scratch at his head softly. The smell of citrus filling the warm air.
And his husband began scrubbing his shampoo into his hair. He couldn’t help melting. He hated how strange it felt without his hair. He missed his mustache. But the black-haired man was gently scrubbing his hair and for some reason, it had him melting.
It had him leaning his head back into his husband’s hands with his lashes fluttering on his cheeks with his hands twitching by his thighs. His husband was squeezing, scrubbing, and scratching at him comfortingly when he felt fingers tap the nape of his neck.
He let his head fall forward and water gushed down over his head; soaking his hair through and soap running down his face. His husband’s hands were gentle as they worked the soap out of his hair gently with locks brushing his throat and at his cheeks.
He tilted his face up to wash the soap off of it. He felt his husband moving behind him again when hands were once again burying themselves into his hair to gently scrub at him and working conditioner into his hair. He let the water pound down his throat and chest.
Weaving on his feet slightly as Shouta scratched comfortingly at his head which was the best thing in the world. It had him melting as he sighed out softly to himself with his toes curling against the shower floor. Once Shouta’s hands left his hair, he tilted his head forward once again.
Raising his hands up to force himself to touch the short locks. It felt unfair that his hair was so short, that he had lost the one thing he adored the most, but he knew he’d get used to it. Hair would grow back. He was glad his husband hadn’t waved away his tears.
He was glad Shouta didn’t end everything by stating it was simply hair. His husband hadn’t uttered those words once but instead was taking care of him oh so gently that it had his eyes burning again as he worked the conditioner out of his hair. And then he felt arms curving along his waist and moving gently.
Then he felt the touch of the sponged against his skin when he stepped out from beneath the stream to let his husband turn gently as he blinked against the water gushing down his face. He gently grabbed Shouta’s waist to help him turn around without slipping.
His back pressed to the shower wall with a jolt; it was cool but he could deal with it. His husband got to work on scrubbing his throat gently, the loofah brushing his jaw gently. Working his way down the sides of his neck to his shoulders. Down to his upper arms.
Swirling the sponge down to his chest carefully; being mindful of his piercings as his husband scrubbed at his skin gently then worked the sponge down towards his stomach. Fingers kneading at him gently through the loofah and he found himself slumping into the wall.
Shivering as Shouta scrubbed at his stomach. His waist. His hips. His thighs and in between then then down to his knees and behind them. He turned when his husband tapped the side of his soapy thigh and he turned to which the black-haired man began to scrub at his back.
It was nice. So, so nice. He could melt into a puddle right here, right now, as his husband scrubbed at his skin softly. Fingertips kneading at him which was so, so nice as his breaths trembled down his throat with the black-haired man kneading at him. Holding him gently.
And then he was moving away from him. Allowing him to step under the water again as soap gushed down his skin. Swirling lines towards the drain. He washed himself off with the citrus of the soaps filling the warm, humid air as he made sure he was fully clean.
Then he was angling Shouta under the water. The black-haired man stared at him in surprise when he reached for his shampoo. He popped the top of the bottle and squirted a palmful into his hand then gestured with his fingers for his husband to turn his head.
Shouta hung up the loofah for him then tilted his head back and he buried his hands into his black locks. Scrubbing the vanilla scented soap into his hair; suds forming effortlessly as he scrubbed and scratched at his husband’s head gently. Suds running down his wrists.
He squeezed and scrubbed at his hair before letting his husband work on washing the soap out. He reached for the conditioner while his husband worked on cleaning his hair and when his his head tilted back again, he eagerly buried his hands into his husband’s hair again.
Rubbing the conditioner over his black locks and rubbing them in with his nails dragging over his scalp. He watched a shudder run over his husband’s body with hands twitching by his thighs, water dripping off of the tips of his fingers when he hummed.
Hoping it was a soft pitch as he scrubbed his husband's hair. Keeping his hands in his hair this time, he angled his head forward. He rubbed and combed at the short black locks with a pang in his chest. He wished his husband hadn’t cut those curls off in the kitchen.
Wished he'd said something to stop him but he'd been too slow to response. And so, he wanted nothing more than to take care of this man in thanks. To show his appreciation for him. He rubbed his husband’s locks until the water ran clear and he worked his fingers out of his hair.
Touching his waist, he gently spun his husband out of the water towards the shower wall. Grabbing his husband’s black loofah, his body wash, he ran the sponge under the water and squirted soap onto it. He scrubbed the soap into the loofah until it was sudding up in his hands.
He placed the body wash down then turned to his husband who was watching him with that dark sparkling eye. And much like what his husband had done for him, he pressed the loofah to his skin and began to scrub; targeting his throat, the sides of his neck.
His shoulders and upper arms. His armpits. His chest with his fingers kneading at the black-haired man through the loofah then sliding the sponge in swirling loops down to his husband’s. Moving down towards his stomach with his fingers kneading at the man.
Sliding it along his waist and the dips of his hips. His thighs and the end of his right thigh gently before sliding between his thighs that trembled gently. He then coaxed his husband to turn around with his hands on his waist. Easing him around and he got to work on his back.
It was odd not to see the black curls clinging to his husband’s skin. Strange for their to be a lack of curls that he adored. It made his chest ache, his heart throbbing, as his throat tightened. Shouta cut his hair. For him. And it had his lip threatening to wobble which he pinched his lips together to fight.
He scrubbed at his husband’s back gently; swirling lines down his back while he kneaded at him. Gently presses into his skin when he made his way down over his husband’s ass and the backs of his thighs. Running the sponge down his leg, the back of his knee, and then straightening up.
Scrubbing the back of his husband’s neck gently. Then he turned from the sud-covered man to rinse the sponge. He hung it up then grabbed the showerhead from the wall. Turning to his husband, he changed the setting to something gently as he ran the head up and down.
Water gushing along his husband’s back and shoulders. His thighs and his ass. Gently holding onto his waist, he helped ease Shouta around and sprayed the water over his chest. Down his stomach to his thighs and between them to get them trembling.
He worked to get his husband clean much to his delight and then he turned to place the showerhead back in its place when Shouta’s arms curled around him. Holding him tightly with their wet skin sliding together. He can’t deny he still felt off-kilter without his hair.
The warmth of his husband was unlike anything else. It had him sighing out softly to himself as his husband squeezed him close with fingers resting on his stomach. Holding him tightly. There was something nice about the hot water pounding on his head and his husband’s arms around him.
The warmth of Shouta’s body pressing into his back. The slick slide of their skin. The scents of citrus and vanilla intermingling together in the warm air like a delicious smelling bubble. Cut off from the rest of the world. He could forget about his empty lip.
About his short locks that clung to his jaw. His husband’s lips pressed to his shoulder softly; kisses that had him shivering when he reached down to caress his husband’s forearms softly with a slick slide. Not once did his husband minimize his pain about this.
Not once did his husband minimize his strange grief. Instead, the black-haired man merely held him close. Took care of him. Loved him. He bit at his lip slightly with his teeth digging into it fiercely with his fingers trailing over his husband’s forearms gently.
Shouta was the best husband in the world. Shouta, who had taken care of him. Who was concerned. Shouta, who cut off his beautiful curls so he wouldn’t feel alone. He tightened his fingers on the black-haired man’s wrists gently as Shouta kissed his shoulder softly.
Crawling up to the side of his neck gently with kisses that had him melting. Had him swaying on his foot with his lashes fluttering on his cheeks with the water pounding at the top of his head. Running down his face in streams. He wants to lay down with his husband.
He wants to cuddle up in his arms. He wants the warmth of Shouta against his skin. He felt Shouta nuzzle his face into his neck softly when his lashes lifted up and he reached out to touch the handle of the showerhead. Twisting it quickly, he cut off the water but Shouta didn’t break away from him.
Instead, arms tightened around him in the lack of pounding water. Fingers pressing into his stomach. The scents of their soaps were unbearably nice; they were positively amazing and the nuzzling of his husband’s face into his shoulder was nice. Unbearably nice.
He slid his hands along his husband’s slick forearms before turning in his arms where that dark eye met his. As if trying to tell if he would cry. If he would break down again. He was tired. More tired from the tears and he reached up to touch his husband’s cheek.
Leaning forward to kiss at the left cheek softly; he nuzzled his nose and lips into him as arms tightened around his waist with hands fanning out on his back. It had him melting into his husband as he nuzzled at him softly when an arm stretched out away from his waist.
The light hit him causing him to jump when he lifted his head from his nuzzling and he looked to his husband who smiled at him. A small, warm smile that made his heart flutter wildly as he then moved with Shouta’s arms sliding from their place around his waist.
He climbed over the lip of the tub and onto the bathmat then reached out to curl his arms around his husband’s waist and heaved him out of the shower. Once Shouta was standing again, he grabbed towels from beneath the sink and handed one to his husband.
The black-haired man got to work on toweling his hair off and he did the same. Squeezing and rubbing the short locks, he flipped his head up with the towel sliding off of it. He took the time to dry his ears properly and thoroughly before rubbing the towel over his shoulders and upper arms.
His chest and stomach. His back and upper back. He made sure to bend down to dry his thighs and legs thoroughly then wrapping the towel around his waist when he turned to his husband. Black locks stuck up wetly when he padded over to the man who wrapped his towel around his waist.
He curled his arm around his husband’s waist and an arm curled around his waist. And together, he walked his husband to the door as the black-haired man hopped awkwardly but kept his balance. He opened the bathroom door once they reach it with Shouta leaning into him.
And he helped ease his husband over the threshold into the bedroom. The carpet soft beneath his feet as he walked Shouta to the bed where the man sat down on the edge of the bed. Damp locks bouncing lightly when he then walked to their dresser and opened the top drawer.
Grabbing a pair of boxers for himself and for Shouta. Opening the second drawer, he grabbed two tank tops; one for him and for Shouta. He then opened the bottom drawer after shutting the second and grabbed a pair of joggers for his husband and a pair of silky soft pants for himself.
He then gathered the clothes up in his arms and walked to the bed with his husband staring at him with a spark of worry pinching at his face. He smiled softly at his husband as he handed the man his clothing and Shouta stared at him intently. It had him fighting the urge to fidget.
Like there was something in his face that needed to be scrutinized. Something he didn’t see. Something he wasn’t aware he was showing. He swallowed and grabbed the tank top to work over his head, arms through the straps, and tugging the tank top down as he focused on dressing.
He tugged the towel from around his waist and rubbed his legs again before stepping into his boxers which he tugged up his damp legs to his hips. The elastic band snapped against his hips lightly as he then grabbed his soft pants and stepped into them.
Fighting the fabric as he tugged it up while his husband was sliding his boxers and pants up, leaning back to lay out on the bed. Lifting his hips up to get them into place when his husband then grabbed his tank top to slip onto his head. He got his pants up and into place.
He then moved quickly towards the bathroom door again. The scents of their soaps still lingering in the air when he grabbed his hearing aids and slid them into his ears. Tapping gently to get them into place and over his ears comfortably before turning them on.
The world of sound rushed over him; the dripping of the showerhead loud as he grabbed Shouta’s prosthetic. The metal dragging against the floor as he grabbed the sleeves from the toilet seat. He grabbed his glasses, sliding them up into place and he walked into the bedroom again.
The items in hand with Shouta sitting on their bed. Wild, damp locks standing up when the black-haired man looked as he padded back into the room. Feet thudding softly over the carpeted floor as he leaned Shouta’s prosthetic against the bedside table.
Then he laid the sleeves on the bedside table and pressed his knees to the edge of the bed and climbed up onto the bed. Crawling his way into Shouta’s lap and arms curling around him and tugging him close. His head falling onto his husband’s shoulder as he curled into his chest.
His arm wrapped around the black-haired man with fingers twisting into his tank top. The quiet of their breaths being taken were loud as he buried his face into his husband’s throat and a hand slid up and down along his back gently. Rubbing him when he felt Shouta’s cheek press to the top of his head.
Loving his place on the black-haired man’s lap as that hand slid up and down along his back. Rubbing. Gentle. He was melting as he let the black-haired man stroke his back and it was just like in the kitchen when they’d been rocking while he cried into his chest.
Only now he felt like he had run out of tears as he nuzzled his face into his husband’s throat with arms tight around him. There was nothing he wants more than to remain right here. He didn’t want anyone to see him without his mustache and his short hair.
But he knew that work would resume like usual. His life was far from stopping. Was far from stopping. Time stopped for no one, after all, and he knew that he needed to be the one to continue onwards. He needs to continue on the way he has been. There’s no stopping it, after all.
But if he could take this time to be in Shouta’s arms, to let himself be soothed, then he was going to take it. Then he was going to happily curl into the black-haired man’s arms and let himself be small for a while. To let himself be the one in need of comfort.
He knew it might be vain to be so upset about a mustache and some hair that would grow back before he knew it, but he was. Yet Shouta hadn’t called him vain. Not one word of reproach had left his husband, and he was grateful for that as he inhaled the vanilla that clung to his husband’s damp skin.
The scent strong because it was fresh and he adores that when he felt Shouta’s lips pressing to the top of his head again. Kisses that had him melting into his chest and sighing out softly with his arm tight around the black-haired man when the hand on his back began to move in circles.
Rolling into him which had him humming softly as he kissed softly at his husband’s throat with the black-haired man holding onto him tightly. There was something so wonderful about being wrapped up in Shouta's arms. About having his husband hold him like this.
“Zashi?” He hummed softly to the black-haired man when the man spoke; his voice low. Soft. He could melt like butter at the sound of it when arms squeezed him gently to the man’s chest and he happily cuddled into his hold. Happily, let himself be held tightly when the black-haired man’s hand lifted from his back to come up and stroke his hair. Toying with the short locks. “I know you feel upset about your hair, and I don’t blame you. Not one bit. But I wanted you to know you look good. Long or short, you’re beautiful.”
Oh, there was something about the way his husband said that that had a knot of emotion forming in his throat. Had him biting down on his lower lip before it could even think of trembling. Before it could think of quivering and giving him away when he rested his forehead against his husband’s throat gently. He let go of his lip as he took a breath. “It’s gonna take some getting used too, that’s for sure. But, baby, you didn’t have to cut your hair too, you know? I wouldn’t have asked you to do that.”
“I know. But I did it because I felt you needed that support, I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” Shouta replied easily when arms squeezed him gently. Holding him tightly as if he were trying to force all his broken pieces right back into place when that hand stroked his hair again. It was nice having his fingers tugging through his hair gently. “It doesn’t matter though. What’s done is done. Now we can grow our hair out together if we want too. I won’t let you be alone in this.”
“I appreciate you, baby, you know that? I appreciate that you tried to make me feel better but I’m going to miss your pretty curls.” He nuzzled his forehead to Shouta who merely hummed softly with fingers tugging through his hair again gently as if to comb his short locks straight. It had him melting into his chest. “I love you so much, Shouta. I’m glad you haven’t called me self-absorbed or-or vain, because I’m crying over some hair, you know?”
“Hair holds memories, love. You’ve been growing your hair out since you were sixteen or seventeen. You’ve had your mustache for years. They meant something to you, and I understand that better than anyone, love.” The fingers tugged gently at his hair again when lips pressed to the top of his head and it had him utterly melting into the black-haired man. “It’s okay to be upset. It’s okay to be sad it’s gone. You feel how you feel, and I’ll support you all the way. I love you more than anything, Zashi.”
His heart melted in his chest. There was something so sweet about his husband’s words that it had him tightening his arm around the black-haired man. Twisting to press his lips to the side of his husband’s neck softly which got the man’s head turning and lips pressing to his forehead softly. It had him tightening his hold on the man as he smiled softly. The first time today it felt with proper strength. “Thank you for being so understanding, baby. Now, how about we set an alarm and take a nap?”
“Now that-” Shouta’s lips pressed to his forehead again when he tipped his head backwards and the black-haired man held him all the tighter. He smiled up at the man who smiled back at him with their noses then pressing together and nuzzling together. A gentle nuzzling that had him smiling wider as he nuzzled back with their noses rubbing together when his husband pulled back and kissed the tip of his nose. “Sounds positively wonderful. You sure you can sleep? No zoomies in you?”
“None. I’m ready for a nap with you, baby!” He replied delightedly when Shouta pulled back and he kissed his cheek before he could get too far away. He tightened his arm around him when Shouta then leaned in towards him and his lips parted; tingling as the warmth of Shouta’s breath fanned over his lips. And with little hesitation, those lips came down on his in the sweetest kiss in the world. A kiss that had him more than assured. He’d be alright. So long as he has Shouta, he’ll be perfectly fine.