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Zoya takes immense pride in her hair - styling and caring for it as meticulously as she cares for her makeup and clothes; each article and color chosen for a specific purpose: to send a message. Being the literal face of the Legion, Zoya is living proof of what DisCity's neglect forces most people from the West District to become. Raised by fire and violence, forced to fight for scraps to keep themselves alive and yet rising above the ruins high enough so that those who had spat in her face now had to strain their necks to look up at her instead.
Her image is just as impactful as her feats of strength which is why it quickly becomes a problem when her hair grows past the length of what she's used to. The aftermath of living through the hell that was the black ring hadn't just left permanent scars across her face, chest and shoulders, it had also made the grip on her right arm - which had taken the most damage out of the rest of her body - shaky and generally just a giant pain in the ass to deal with.
After what feels like the nth and final fucking time she fails at even keeping her hand on the scissors steady, Zoya once again snips off an uneven line on the ends of her hair.
The scissors smack against the bathroom tiles in her frustration, instantly bending and shattering from the force of impact and sending a few shards flying against the walls but Zoya really couldn't give a rat's ass about that at the moment.
It was one thing to feel restless after a lifetime of staying on your toes and expecting the next person passing behind you to shank a knife through your side and another to feel useless.
As expected, the noises she'd made without consideration for the person in the other room woke them up. Zoya senses her through the ever present bond seared into the flesh underneath her wrist long before she hears the soft creak of the bathroom door.
Chief stands at the doorway - tousled hair and cloudy gray eyes, staring right back at Zoya into the mirror. It doesn't take long for her to notice the shattered pair of scissors lying alongside the mess of silver hair on the floor and sink right alongside what Zoya had been trying to do either.
Though involuntary, she flinches at the gentle contact of Chief's calloused fingertips against the still damp skin of her naked back and watches with a twist in her chest as the latter pulls back almost immediately.
Zoya's jaw clenches and unclenches, unable to find the words to break the tension-filled silence without saying something stupid in her rage that she wouldn't be able to take back. Chief solves that dilemma for her swiftly, speaking in a tired and yet warm tone. "It's cold here, let's move to the living room"
Zoya doesn't protest, immediately walking over the jagged edges of the broken tool laying scattered on the floor and crossing the distance between the bathroom and back into the sanctity that was the rented apartment's little common room in a few long strides. She hears Chief walking around, the floorboards creaking quietly under the weight of her light footsteps and filling the early morning's still silence.
She didn’t know what she expected to achieve, really. All she knew was that her hair would only continue to get annoying in ways that were most inconvenient, specifically when she’s trying to actually see what she’s fighting against or when Chief’s hips are between her palms and…
Zoya had just about a few minutes to ruminate in silence on the couch when she hears Chief joining her in the room. She notices her placing a new pair of scissors and a comb on the table next to her - putting them in Zoya’s direct line of sight before speaking in that same soft tone that had no business soothing her frayed nerves the way it did.
"May I touch you?" She asks and it takes a few seconds for Zoya not to scoff and laugh at her because of course she'll let Chief touch her and more if she really wanted to.
"Is that even a question?"
She watches from the corner of her eye as Chief resists the smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "Do you want help with your hair, Zoya?"
Want, not need.
It still surprises her to this day how quickly her heart swells with the affection that Zoya continues to find difficult to believe she deserves to feel. It’s a losing battle but she would have it no other way. She surrenders to Chief’s suggestion rather easily, much to her apparent relief. "You even know what you're doing, Chief?"
"I've had my fair share of experiences from giving Hecate's hair a clean trim when she asks for it" Zoya feels the way Chief has already draped a towel over her shoulders; curiously running her hands through the evident mess Zoya has made on her head with a gentle reverence that she knows she'd hate coming from anyone else. "Can't promise you a miracle but I can help clean the ends up a bit?"
Zoya exhales out an exaggerated sigh, acting about as casual as she could about the situation without succumbing back into angry frustration that she couldn't just do it herself in the first place. "Knock yourself out"
It's a struggle to stay still even when Zoya's had plenty of experience doing exactly that. It was bad enough that her grip wasn’t as strong as it used to be and now she’s accepting help from the one person she loathed to appear this fragile in front of. Not that Chief hasn’t already seen it before but there are only so many times she can bear the thought of being seen as helpless when Zoya is anything but.
She considers herself a patient person even with the occasional bouts of temperamental outbursts but then again, it's nothing quite like Chief's who continues to comb her fingers through her hair, scratching her blunt nails over her scalp while waiting for Zoya's restless leg bouncing to calm down.
"Don't you have a hairdresser in the MBCC?" Zoya decides to speak up, unable to stand the tension in the room and finally sitting as still as she could as she thinks back on the thought of the gloomy girl she knows Chief thinks of as her own.
The first sounds of snipping follows after Chief responds to her, her methods a little hesitant at first but precise all the same. "That we do, but Hecate doesn’t enjoy the thought of strangers touching her, especially not her hair"
"If you've been doing her hair that explains why she looks like a blue mop half the time then" The sounds stop and Zoya doesn't fight against the unapologetic smile that finds its way onto her lips, "It'll be good for her confidence that I join the fray soon. It helps to have someone to relate to."
From over her shoulder she can hear that Chief is struggling between laughing and scoffing in offense. The only other indication of that being the fact that she pulls on her hair just a little harder in reprimand.
"And what about yourself? Doesn't the Legion have any talented barbers in their ranks?"
Zoya shifts in her seat a tad uncomfortably, digging her nails into her palms in a tight fist in an effort to keep the trembling of her right hand at bay. "We do. I just liked doing it myself."
"Any particular reason for that? Seems like more trouble than it’s worth" Chief hums, brushing a messy tuft of hair off of her shoulder and already Zoya’s head was beginning to feel lighter.
"My old man Leggett used to teach me a few self grooming tricks when I was a scrawny thing who couldn't keep her hair out of her face half the time" She recalls fondly without hesitation, soothed by the sound of the quiet snipping and Chief's quiet responses keeping her distracted. "A few tricks turned into a way of symbolically keeping a part of him with me all the time"
Moving to stand next to her, Chief bent down from the waist and held a portion of Zoya’s hair between her fingers as she worked; looking about as similar as she does when she’s trying to solve a wearisome dilemma at work - pursed lips and a crease between her brows. It takes almost all of Zoya’s strength not to push the scissors away so that she could feel the warmth of her cheek in her palm.
“He must have been a handsome man then” Chief’s comment breaks Zoya out of her thoughts, struck by bewilderment as she throws her a look, demanding her to expound. She watches as Chief’s lips stretch into an almost cheeky grin, “Assuming you adopted his methods perfectly”
“There are simpler ways to call me good-looking, little chief” She doesn’t miss the way the woman’s gray eyes shine with mirth and it relieves Zoya to see that at least one of them was having fun.
“Simpler yet not as much fun” Chief’s knuckles brush against the back of Zoya’s neck as she moves to the other side, whether or not it was on purpose mattered very little.
Time eventually slows down as she feels the tension melting from her shoulders, the warmth coming from Chief’s constant presence chasing away the bout of insecurity Zoya loathed to admit she was having more often every time she caught sight of mania’s parting gift printed onto her skin.
Yet, stupid as it may be, there was comfort to be found in the uncharacteristically domestic setting and Zoya knew that warm little pocket moments like these would be the things she'd sooner fight another black ring for than forget.
Chief finishes her little task quicker than Zoya anticipated and she watches as she trots away in the shirt she quickly realizes is hers to grab the mirror sitting on the cabinet against the wall. Chief holds it in front of her, looking quite proud of herself as Zoya takes in the tidied up look on her hair. “Better?”
Better than she had done herself earlier, clearly. Despite herself, Zoya feels proud of her just as much.
A beat of anticipatory silence and then, “I should have just gone to town instead”
Chief groans and throws her hands up in the air in exasperation, already halfway through her little tirade about how it wasn’t bad and Zoya’s just messing with her on purpose again - She is. She nonchalantly explains that she just likes the way Chief always turns slightly red while going on defensive rant whenever her work or creations are being criticised, even if playfully.
She’s laughing in her fit of gleeful amusement over teasing Chief when the latter swipes the towel full of silver hair clippings from her shoulders and shoves her harmlessly. “Wash the rest off before you climb back into bed. I’m not about to wake up with it all over my pillow cases in the morning”
Overwhelmed by a wave of endearment towards Chief's little show of grumpy annoyance, Zoya reaches out and wraps her arm around her waist before she could slip out of reach without even moving from her seat. Pulling her back in and planting a kiss just below the valley of her breasts over the fabric of her borrowed shirt. “Join me? As thanks, of course”
Zoya grins smugly as she watches from beneath her bangs as Chief's expressions flicker from glaring witheringly down at her to actually considering the suggestion. When it became increasingly apparent that Zoya had no plans of letting her go back to bed so soon, Chief sighs and brushes her thumb across pale skin decorated with splatters of the inky night sky - unafraid to hold her even with the scars Zoya knows would put off any regular person. “Fine. Just because you're so grateful.”
She is, Zoya thinks as Chief pulls her onto her feet and she actually lets her. Grateful for many things that came in the form of pretty gray eyes and soft hands that seemed to have been perfectly made for her lovesick head to fall into.