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“It's alright, Darling. You can come out.”
“I'm gross.”
“You're hardly gross. You're lovely.”
“That's because you like me.”
“And you don't like yourself?”
“Maybe... sometimes I don't. I guess sometimes I do. I don't though. Right now.” Feet shuffled over tiles. Items clattered about into the sink with a familiar clang. They had too many products in there, and not quite enough space.
That was probably Elliott's fault, but his hair took so much time, no one could hardly blame him.
He sat down at the bathroom door with his notebook. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to come out and sit with me?”
“Not until I'm done.”
“You're safe in there, right?”
“I'm not going to do anything. I just. I want to.” He shifted about inside, and pulled out a drawer. Several. “I'm busy. Go do something else.”
“Alright.” He'd do something. Right there. “Let me know when I can see you, My Love.”
Heavy footsteps, and then a sigh. “Yeah, ok.”
He pulled an inky black pen from an inner pocket of his vibrant red jacket. “I'm here for you when you need me.”
“Thanks.” They grunted it, apparently still deep in doing whatever they were doing and unable to give much more than a word.
He wasn't exactly used to it, but he trusted that they would recover, and he could assist them in whatever way when they were ready. Elliott leaned against the door, and began to pose the words on the page in such a way as to ensure their heavy blush.
A shaver began to buzz, a noise he found loathsome in all iterations.
Elliott inhaled, and recalled it wasn't about him. They would never do that to him. They would never force him to give up his locks. And how he felt about his hair, that it was his to do with as he pleased, was how they felt about theirs. He did hope, a bit, that they wouldn't go bald with the buzzer. But no hair could grow as long or as quickly as his love for them had, so the physicality of his boyfriend didn't matter so much as their soul, and their wit.
And he would keep his opinions to his own damn self, if he happened to not like the look.
Elliott grinned. Perhaps they would go for something bold? Something to take the edge off? What was it Shane called his cut? An 'undercut'?
That would look good. He'd have to cease making the current association between the haircut and Shane, or become more friendly with Shane.
Mind associations were tricky things.
“I love you, you know.”
“Yeah.” Another grunt. Buzz, buzz.
Angry bees. He considered the thought.
He'd always been told how he wasn't really a man. He felt like one. No matter his hair length, no matter what he wore. Elliott was what he was, regardless of ignorant people.
But they did not feel like a woman. His boyfriend, his partner, his everything, he was what he said he was. And if that knowledge changed, or if it stayed the same, Elliott would do what he could to understand and go with that feeling his boyfriend had.
So he wrote.
When I look at you, you're a creeping smile on the end of a joke that lights my heart, and we laugh together until the sun rises and I can watch the shadows of the night and weariness with this world leave your face in gentle slumber. When you open your mouth to bite your produce, all I can imagine is what it would be like to be with you for every meal, for the rest of our time together. I can feel nothing but need when you are away, even just a room from me. I'd do anything to take your fear, and insecurity, and wrap it up around those bombs you use, toss it into the mines, and let the earth deal with this burden you should not have to bear. I would do anything for you.
He sighed.
With his love, his beautiful, strong, wonderful man, he felt free to let all those saccharine words loose.
Caught up in his lines of love, his strings, strung out so his wondrous partner could read them, he didn't notice the sounds as anything more than a distant flicker. No more buzz. Shower. Footsteps. Sigh.
He fell onto his back and looked up at his toweled lover. “Oh.”
“Against the door? What part of 'do something else' didn't you get?” But they grinned, and leaned down to help heave his light frame to his feet.
“Oh, but I did!” He brandished the notebook, and flourished it about. “I wrote of you!”
“What sorts of naughty stuff do we get up to this time?”
“It's not... it's not that sort of writing. It's a love letter. Not a lusty male romance.”
“Shame, I really liked the one where I was a cowpoke. Poked your rear good.”
Elliott blushed and shoved the notebook at them. “You... you are most certainly the one who got me started writing things of... that nature.”
“Yeah? Well, good for me. You're pretty good at it.” He strode over to the bed, and flopped down onto it with little ceremony. The lower towel flipped open just enough to show Elliott a glimpse of hairy skin that always got him hungry for the farmer's less wholesome produce.
Elliott followed, and curled up beside them. “May I admire your hair? Or are you not ready for me to?”
They glanced over, and offered a wide grin. “Eager to look?”
“I love seeing you. Every part of you. Always. No matter how your body changes, or doesn't. I love you.”
Tears, but maybe it was just the shower. He wiped them away and tugged off the towel. A moment later, the towel swirled in the air, and sailed over towards the door. Perfect hit, and the door slammed shut. “He shoots, he scores!”
“Hopefully.” Elliott teased, and tentatively reached one hand up to pet through the lovely short hair. “You look good.”
“It's not dried yet.”
“When it dries, I won't reassess. I'll know.”
He snorted, and curled up close. “This is cute stuff.”
“Cute?”
“What do you want from me? It's... good. It's probably making me blush. You know I hate that.” They didn't hate it, but they always hid it. Along with the grin that inevitably sprung up with reddened cheeks.
Usually, they leaned up against Elliott's slender chest, or behind their hands to cover it.
In this case, they peeked up from behind the notebook pages, though every few minutes, they'd switch the page and offer up a giggle. “You're the silliest man I've ever known. I love you.”
“I could say the same, to both counts.” Elliot pet through their short hair, and enjoyed the feel of it. It dried so fast, such a novel thing for him to see. He couldn't keep the bubbly grin off his face. “The only way I might change my mind is... well, never mind.”
The book lowered, and they faced him with a wide eyed, stern lipped expression. “What?”
“If you shaved my head like this. It looks so good on you. But every month my mother used to force me to chop my locks, and I honestly don't think I could bear it ever again.”
The farmer cackled, and rolled over onto him. “Be serious!”
“I am! That's the only way. And since I don't see that ever happening...” Arms clasped about their waist, and tugged them in. “I have to be most sincere in saying. I love you. And I always will, no matter what. You're perfect, and I support you in everything.”
They pressed the book to the side, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you too, Elliott.”