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The bathroom still smelled faintly like chemicals, the kind of sharp, artificial scent that clung stubbornly to the air no matter how long the window stayed open, settling into the walls and the floor and his skin as if it wanted to make sure he wouldn't forget what he had done, even if the evidence eventually faded away.
Sae sat on the cold tile floor with his back pressed against the cabinet beneath the sink, his posture slumped in a way that would have looked careless to anyone else but felt unbearably heavy to him, his knees drawn loosely toward his chest while his fingers, faintly stained from the dye he had worked into his hair with shaking hands, curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt as though he needed something solid to hold onto just to keep himself from unraveling completely.
His hair, which had always been something familiar and constant even when everything else felt unstable, was darker now in a way that made his stomach churn every time his gaze accidentally drifted toward the mirror, not quite Rin's exact shade but close enough that it created an unsettling resemblance he couldn't ignore, a resemblance that didn't comfort him the way he had desperately hoped it might when he made the impulsive decision to change it.
The mirror was still there, uncovered and merciless, reflecting everything back at him without distortion or kindness, and even though a part of him had considered turning it away or draping something over it to avoid seeing himself like this, another part of him—quieter but more persistent—had insisted on leaving it exactly where it was, as if forcing himself to look would somehow make things clearer instead of worse.
It didn't help, and it never had.
His eyes were swollen and rimmed with red, the aftermath of tears that had come too fast and too hard to control earlier, leaving his lashes slightly clumped together and his vision faintly blurred, not because he was still crying but because the weight of it all hadn't actually gone anywhere, instead settling deep inside his chest in a way that made every breath feel heavier than the last.
He had really believed, even if only for a moment, that changing his appearance like this would make a difference, that if he could just alter the one thing she had always pointed out with such cutting precision, then maybe the voice in his head would quiet down, maybe the memories would stop replaying so vividly, maybe the reflection staring back at him would finally feel like his own instead of something borrowed from someone he wished he could forget.
“You look just like me.”
The words echoed through his mind with painful clarity, as if they had been spoken only moments ago instead of years, sharp and familiar and impossible to ignore no matter how much distance he had put between himself and the place where they were first said.
His fingers tightened against his shirt, the fabric bunching under the strain as his breath hitched unevenly in his throat, the sound of it embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet room.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely, the word fragile and unconvincing even to his own ears, as though arguing against something that existed only in memory could somehow undo the damage it had already caused, “no, I don't.”
But the mirror didn't change, and neither did he.
Even now, even like this, even after everything he had tried in a moment of desperation that he could barely bring himself to think about without feeling a fresh wave of shame, he still looked like himself, and that meant he still looked like her in ways that went deeper than hair color or surface-level differences.
A bitter, humorless laugh slipped out of him, quiet and broken in a way that didn't even sound like it belonged to him anymore.
“…Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, his voice cracking at the edges as the word hung in the air with an uncomfortable finality, “so stupid…”
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The door creaked open beside him, the sound subtle but unmistakable in the silence, and even though Sae didn't turn his head or acknowledge it in any visible way, the tension in his shoulders shifted immediately, tightening as if bracing for something he wasn't ready to face.
“…Oi,” Shidou's voice came from the doorway, quieter than usual in a way that felt almost unnatural for him, as though he had walked into something he didn't fully understand but instinctively recognized as fragile, “you gonna explain why you look like you lost a fight with a bottle of hair dye?”
Sae didn't respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor as if looking anywhere else might force him to confront something he wasn't ready to put into words.
Shidou stepped further into the bathroom, the faint sound of his feet against the tile breaking the stillness as he moved closer, only stopping once he was near enough to take in the full scene in front of him—the mess, the discarded supplies, the state Sae was in.
“…Sae,” he said again, making sure to leave no trace of teasing or mockery, his tone low and steady.
Sae swallowed, his throat tight as he forced out a quiet, strained response without lifting his head.
“Don't look.”
“Too late,” Shidou replied almost immediately, though there was no edge to his words, no attempt to make light of it the way he usually would in any other situation.
A brief pause settled between them, thick with everything that wasn't being said.
“Why's it darker?” Shidou asked, his voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity now, as if he were trying to understand rather than provoke.
Sae's jaw tightened as he shifted slightly against the cabinet, the movement small but tense.
“…I messed up,” he said, the words clipped and unconvincing even as they left his mouth.
“That's not what I asked,” Shidou pointed out, not harshly but firmly enough that it was clear he wasn't going to let the answer slide.
“I said I messed up,” Sae snapped back, his voice cracking at the end despite the sharpness he tried to maintain, betraying more than he wanted it to.
For a moment, Shidou didn't respond at all, and that silence felt heavier than any argument could have, because it was so unlike him to leave something alone without pushing further or filling the space with noise.
“…You crying?” Shidou asked eventually, the question blunt but lacking any of the usual bite, instead sounding almost cautious.
Sae let out a hollow laugh that didn't reach his eyes, the sound brittle and uneven.
“Was,” he admitted, the single word carrying more weight than he intended.
Another pause followed, stretching just long enough to make Sae acutely aware of every second that passed.
“You gonna tell me why?” Shidou asked, his tone quieter now, less demanding and more patient in a way that felt unfamiliar.
Sae's fingers tightened again, his gaze dropping further as he shook his head slightly.
“No.”
“Cool,” Shidou said without hesitation, the response immediate but strangely unbothered, “then I'll just sit here and make up reasons until one of them annoys you enough to correct me.”
A breath left Sae, you could mistake it for a laugh but there was no humor behind it, it was more like a gutted sigh.
“Go away,” he muttered, though there was no real force behind it.
“Nope,” Shidou replied just as easily, before lowering himself to the floor beside Sae with a quiet thud, positioning himself close enough that their shoulders nearly touched but not quite, leaving just enough space to avoid overwhelming him.
“…You look weird,” Shidou added after a moment, glancing at him from the side.
“Shut up,” Sae murmured, though the response lacked any real heat.
“It's not bad, you still look pretty,” Shidou continued, his tone thoughtful rather than mocking, “it's just… not you.”
That simple statement hit harder than anything else had so far, something in Sae's chest tightening painfully as he let his head tilt back slightly against the cabinet.
“…Exactly,” he whispered, the word barely audible.
Shidou's gaze lingered on him, attentive in a way that was easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.
“I didn't want to look like—” Sae started, his voice faltering as the words caught in his throat, forming a feeling like a rope was tied around it, forbidding his words to come out cleanly.
Shidou didn't interrupt, didn't rush him, didn't fill the silence.
He just waited.
Sae's breathing grew uneven again as he forced himself to continue.
“…I thought if I changed myself,” he said slowly, each word deliberate and fragile, “it would stop.”
“What would?” Shidou asked, edging Sae on.
Sae hesitated, his fingers curling tighter as his gaze flickered briefly toward the mirror before dropping again.
“…Her,” he said quietly.
Shidou had no idea who Sae was talking about but didn't say anything else, this could be a conversation for when he's in a better mindset.
Sae knew Shidou didn't understand, but he didn't push so Sae didn't explain further. He let out a shaky breath as he dragged a hand over his face.
“It didn't work, obviously,” he said, the words sharper now as they tumbled out, “I still look the same, I still—” he cut himself off abruptly, his jaw clenching as he shook his head.
Shidou glanced at the mirror and then back at him, his expression unreadable but steady, trying to understand Sae with the little clues he's been given.
“…You don't,” he said, choosing to contradict.
“Don't lie,” Sae shot back immediately, the response instinctive.
“I'm not,” Shidou replied just as quickly, his tone unwavering.
Sae shook his head again, more forceful this time, as if rejecting the possibility outright.
He went to argue again but nothing else came out. He was too worn out to feel frustration so chose to sit in the silence that had enveloped them, it wasn't uncomfortable.
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“I need it out,” he muttered, breaking the silence, his voice quieter now, almost pleading beneath the surface, “I don't want this.”
“The dye?” Shidou clarified.
Sae nodded faintly.
“It's temporary, right?” Shidou asked.
“…Yeah.”
“Then we can fix it,” Shidou said simply.
Sae hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his expression.
“…What if it doesn't go back right?” he asked, the doubt creeping in despite himself.
“It will,” Shidou replied without hesitation.
“You don't know that,” Sae countered, his voice thin.
Shidou exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the cabinet behind him.
“Then we'll deal with it if it doesn't,” he said, his tone steady in a way that left no room for argument.
Sae was quiet for a long moment, his hands trembling slightly in his lap.
“…Help me,” he said finally, the words soft and vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
“Alright,” Shidou answered immediately, without a trace of hesitation.
He stood up and began gathering what he needed from the scattered mess around them, grabbing a towel and sorting through the products with quick, efficient movements.
“…You really went all in, huh?” he muttered under his breath.
Sae let out a weak, uneven exhale.
“I wasn't thinking...”
“No kidding,” Shidou replied, though there was no real judgment in his voice.
He turned on the water, grabbing the shower head, adjusting the temperature until it ran lukewarm before glancing back at Sae.
“C'mere.”
Sae pushed himself up slowly, his movements stiff and unsteady as he made his way over, his legs feeling heavier than they should.
Shidou didn't comment on it, simply guiding him into position with a light, gentle touch that was so unlike him it almost hurt.
“Sit down and lean back,” he instructed.
Sae did as he was told, tilting his head back as the water hit his hair, soaking through the dark strands almost immediately as faint streams of color began to run down into the sink.
Shidou's hands moved through his hair, methodical and steady as he worked to rinse the dye out, his touch firm but gentle enough not to pull or hurt.
“It's coming out,” he said after a moment.
Sae kept his eyes closed, his breathing gradually evening out under the steady rhythm of the water and Shidou's delicate fingers working their way through his hair.
“You okay?” Shidou asked.
There was a pause before Sae answered.
“…No,” he admitted quietly.
Shidou didn't try to contradict him, didn't offer empty reassurance.
“…Good,” he said instead.
Sae frowned slightly, his brow furrowing.
“What?”
“Means you're not pretending,” Shidou replied simply.
Sae let out a slow, shaky hum as the water continued to run, the dark color gradually fading with each pass of Shidou's hands, revealing something closer to what had been there before.
Not perfect.
But closer.
Sae opened his eyes slightly, his gaze flickering toward the mirror again as he caught a glimpse of himself, something in his chest tightening at the sight.
It wasn't her.
Not completely.
Maybe it never had been.
His throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
“…Don't leave.”
Shidou didn't pause in what he was doing, his hands still steady as he worked, a small smile forming on his face.
“Wasn't planning to.”