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Viktor scrutinized his silver hair in the mirror, lightly tugging it this way and that. Yuuri's small poke at practice had brought attention to the uncharacteristically neglected part of his body. Despite tending to Yuuri's hair every night, his own went ignored, and it was becoming very noticeable. The undercut, normally kept short and tight to his scalp, was starting to tickle his neck and graze his ears. He had it cut right before his impulsive decision to come to Japan, but months had passed since then. Viktor swept the hair behind his ear with a sigh before stepping away from the mirror.
He thought about asking Yuuri for barber recommendations and getting it cut tomorrow, but the thought of his hair in the hands of someone from a foreign country made him uncomfortable. Not that he didn't trust the Japanese, but he was worried that the terminology wouldn't translate, and Viktor takes immense pride in his hair. He unceremoniously dropped onto the bed and sprawled out, wondering what to do about his situation, when he heard the light knocking at his door.
"Ah, come in!" Viktor called in the brightest voice he could muster, pasting his heart-shaped grin onto his face. The door slid open to reveal—unsurprisingly—Yuuri, holding a comb and a towel.
Neither Viktor nor Yuuri really knew how this became a nightly occurrence. Viktor noticed that Yuuri never combed his hair after exiting the onsen, and after explaining the terrible tragedy that is tangles, he took matters into his own hands, combing out Yuuri's hair while he fidgeted beneath him, flustered. When it came time for the Onsen on Ice event, Yuuri came to Viktor to style his hair, and Viktor did it without a second thought. He smiled at the memory.
"Viktor?" Yuuri questioned, bringing Viktor back to the present. He met the blue eyes of the boy. His hair still damp from the onsen, his face still flushed from the heat, his glasses still slightly foggy—anyone else might have found Yuuri distastefully disheveled, but Viktor found him especially endearing. Dark spots stood out on his gray shirt where he didn't completely dry off, and Viktor's mind supplied images of little water droplets on his pale, unmarked skin, ready to be removed by his waiting tongue. He shook his head to clear his mind and stepped aside to let Yuuri into the room.
Once the younger skater had entered, Viktor slid the door to the hallway shut. They had been through this routine so many times already that it was second nature now. When Viktor turned back to face the small room, Yuuri had already taken the chair from the desk and placed it in the middle of the room before placing himself on top of it, towel and comb laid out on Viktor's bed next to him. Viktor walked over to the bed and placed the towel on Yuuri's shoulders before picking up the comb.
He wasn't sure when this became a silent affair, but it was. The first few times, Viktor had barraged Yuuri with questions, pushing the limits of what he could get away with. But, at the boy's obvious discomfort, he talked less and less, before these sessions became totally silent. It was fine with him, though—it was more...intimate this way. The only sounds in the room were the breaths of the two, and the slippery strands smacking against each other, Yuuri's head, and the comb as Viktor worked his way through the tangles, slowly, meticulously. He was never one to do anything halfway, and this task probably took more time than necessary, but if Yuuri didn't enjoy it, he never mentioned otherwise.
Focusing back on the present, Viktor tangled his hand in Yuuri's hair, running his fingers through the strands to remove any forming tangles that were easy to separate. He always did this more than was actually necessary, loved to see the way Yuuri melted into his touch, leaned his head back into the soft pressure of Viktor's fingertips. But Viktor had a task to do, and the soft pads of his fingers were replaced with the hard plastic comb as he began to work his way through the tangles at the base of Yuuri's neck.
His hair tangled surprisingly easily. It was thick enough to be able to gel off his face in competition, but the strands always feel so soft, like they wouldn't be able to get into a knot even if you tried to intentionally make one. Alas, that wasn't the case, and Yuuri and Viktor simultaneously winced as he hit a particularly tough knot; Yuuri, from the physical pain; Viktor, from the thought of causing him pain.
"Is something on your mind?" Yuuri's voice startled Viktor, and he dropped the comb in surprise. Yuuri bent forward in his chair to pick it up and held it over his head for Viktor to receive without looking. Viktor repossessed the plastic object.
"Why do you ask?" Viktor asked slowly, getting back to the task at hand.
"Well, you're not talking." That threw Viktor off.
"We never talk when we do this?" Viktor stated with the implication of a question, confused.
"We never physically talk, but your gestures say more that enough. You're always focused on the task, but not to the point where you're aggressively singled in on it. You throw in unnecessary touches and spend an excessive amount of time on a simple task." Viktor was glad he was standing behind Yuuri, because his blush could easily rival that of Kenjiro Minami. He opened his mouth to retort, but Yuuri beat him to it.
"It's ok Viktor. I enjoy it. It makes me feel...special, in a way." Viktor could see Yuuri's own flush reach his exposed neck. "But I can tell something is on your mind." He left it there, not demanding an answer, but making it clear that Viktor could talk about it if he desired. Viktor ran his hands through Yuuri's hair one last time before sitting on the bed with a sigh. Yuuri turned in the chair to face him.
"It's stupid," Viktor admitted, embarrassed.
"I'm sure it's not stupid. It can't be worse than me declaring that katsudon was my inspiration for Eros at dinner that one time." Yuuri groaned at the memory, and Viktor gave a small chuckle.
"You're right, I can't really top that one. It's just..."
"...just...?" Yuuri prompted him to continue.
"...my hair." Viktor looked down to the ground, avoiding eye contact. Yuuri took a few moments to process just what exactly it was that was upsetting Viktor.
"Your hair? What's wrong with your hair?" Yuuri asked, sounding genuinely confused.
"It's getting too long, and I really, *really* don't like it long. It's starting to frustrate me, but I'm concerned about finding a barber here due to the language barrier. My formal Japanese is obviously good, but when it comes to something like getting a haircut? I'm lost. I just feel like it's a stupid thing to be anxious about, but my hair means a lot to me."
Viktor looked up at the end of his explanation to see Yuuri's face process this confession, from raising his eyebrows in surprise, to furrowing his brows in thought, before softening his eyes in sympathy.
"Wow, Viktor, I..."
"I know it's stupid, I'm sorry but-"
"No, no, it's not stupid," Yuuri cut him off. "Thank you for sharing it with me. It's perfectly normal to feel how you do. Our hair is a big part of our appearance, and it's perfectly alright to care a lot about something that is yours and you take a lot of pride in." Yuuri gave him a reassuring smile. "If you'd like, I can cut it for you."
Now it was Viktor's turn to process the other's words. He wasn't used to being given a pep-talk or being comforted; he always gave those things, never received them. It was a change of pace that felt surprisingly pleasant.
"You know how to cut hair?" Viktor asked.
"I do my own, so I don't think I would ruin your precious locks," Yuuri teased.
"You cut your own hair?" Viktor repeated. His brain felt like it was working at half-speed since he opened up to Yuuri about his anxieties, as he was not used to putting himself in vulnerable positions.
"You're not the only one with anxiety surrounding haircuts," Yuuri smiled sadly at Viktor. "When my mom tried to take me to get it cut when I was younger, I would always freak out and throw a tantrum. She finally got so fed up that she just started to do it herself. But she was honesty pretty terrible at it." Yuuri chuckled at the memory. "So, as soon as I was able to hold scissors in my hands, I did my own hair."
"Wow." Viktor didn't really know what else to say. The fact that what he considered to be a stupid anxiety was shared by someone else was beyond comforting.
"Do you want to take me up on my offer? We can do it right now, since it bothers you so much."
Silence filled the room. "Please," Viktor finally whispered, ducking his head.
Yuuri stood up from the chair and left the room, presumably for the bathroom. Viktor stood up from the bed and assumed Yuuri's previous position in the chair. He fidgeted uncomfortably—he did not like to put himself in a position of subordination, and entrusting your hair to someone was definitely one of those. With his usual barber in Russia it was different—there was no...feelings there, so it felt distant and unattached, just the way Viktor liked it. But here, in his temporary bedroom, in the same chair that Yuuri sits in while he lovingly tends to the others hair, it felt like too much, like too much, like-
"Viktor?" Yuuri's voice broke through Viktor's thoughts. He had been so lost in his own head that he hadn't even heard the door open. Looking down at his hands, he noticed they were trembling. Yuuri must have noticed too, because he dropped whatever it was he brought onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Viktor from behind, providing a comforting pressure that he so desperately needed right now. Viktor nuzzled into the hug, placing his hands over Yuuri's. They stayed there for a minute while his breathing evened out and he stopped shaking. Viktor shrugged out of the hug, and Yuuri stepped back.
"I'm sorry," Viktor apologized softly.
"There's nothing to be sorry about," Yuuri stated firmly, surprising Viktor. The former almost never sounded that confident in his words.
Viktor looked over to the bed to see that a spray bottle with water, a variety of colored hair clips, a pair of scissors, and a clipper set with all its guards had joined the towel and comb. He took a deep breath.
Yuuri clapped his hands together. "Well, shall we get started then?" Viktor gave a noncommittal noise. Yuuri reached over and picked up the towel but hovered with it over Viktor's shoulders.
"I think you should...um...take your shirt off?" Yuuri managed uncertainly. Viktor turned around in the chair and smirked at Yuuri's blush.
"Wanting me to get naked already, huh Yuuri?" Viktor's voice dripped with lust, a stark change from his state mere minutes before. Flirting was familiar. Flirting was what he was good at.
"It's just so you won't get hair on your nice shirt and maybe down said nice shirt and then you will get itchy and that would be pretty annoying and I just want to make sure that you're comfortable because you're my coach and-mmph!"
Yuuri was cut off by Viktor throwing his tee in his face. He laughed as Yuuri peeled it off with an annoyed expression.
"You don't have to explain every little thing," Viktor giggled. "I understand your reasoning. I trust you." He let the words hang in the air.
Yuuri cleared his throat but said nothing. He laid the towel that he still held in his hands over Viktor's shoulders like a makeshift cape, before picking the shirt up off the floor, folding it, and placing it on the bed. Viktor took the fraying ends of the towel and pulled them towards his chest in an attempt to both keep himself warm and cover up. Despite implications to the contrary, Viktor wasn't exactly comfortable with baring his skin, and the frigid room wasn't helping his cause either. But the feeling of hands entering his hair made him forget all of that.
Yuuri's fingers were like magic, caressing the silky strands as though it was an art form. Viktor could almost picture the look of concentration on Yuuri's face in his inevitable fear to mess up, but his focus on his finger movements would rival that of a famous harpist. But soon the fingers were replaced with the hard, plastic comb, and the feeling of dread settled itself in Viktor's stomach once again. The upper layers of his hair were twisted and pinned against his head with the aid of clips until only the overgrown undercut remained free.
"What number do you get?" Yuuri asked, sweeping his hand over the plastic guards to clarify his question.
"Um, #4, I think." Viktor, admittedly, did not know for certain. His barber was no-nonsense, never talking about what he was doing or asking any questions about what Viktor wanted, so he wouldn't be able to explain how his hair was cut if he tried. Luckily, at least one of the boys in the room seemed to know what they were doing.
Yuuri took the guard and slipped it over the teeth of the clippers. He switched the machine on, and Viktor flinched at the noise. Immediately, the noise stopped, and the comforting pressure of Yuuri's arms around him returned.
"How can I make this easier on you?" Yuuri asked, so genuinely eager to make Viktor comfortable, something no one else ever tried to do for him. He normally just screwed his eyes shut and gripped the chair with white knuckles until it was over.
"Um, maybe Makkachin? He normally comforts me any other time, so..." Viktor let the end of the sentence drag out. Yuuri understood, and left the room to go find the poodle. The dog happened to be just outside the room, because as soon as Yuuri opened the door, Makkachin came bounding in, eyes bright and tongue out.
"Ah, Makkachin! Come here!" Viktor called with a big smile. Seeing his precious dog always brightened his day. Makkachin came over to the chair, and, with a grunt, Viktor scooped the big poodle into his lap, where the dog laid down and settled himself. Viktor wrapped his arms around Makkachin for a tight hug before resorting to just stroking the curly brown fur.
The sound of Yuuri clearing his throat brought him back to the present. Viktor quickly reflected on just how often that was happening today, him being brought back to reality by Yuuri after zoning out. Yuuri was standing in front of the chair, looking down at Makkachin.
"Are you ready?" Yuuri asked, not impatiently, as he lifted his head to look at Viktor. He nodded, once, and Yuuri reassumed his position behind the chair, clippers in hand.
"I'm just going to clean up the undercut right now, ok? It won't take long, I promise." Viktor nodded once again and the sound of the clippers filled the small room. He felt his head being gently pushed forward by Yuuri, so he buried his face in Makkachin's fur. He let his eyes slide shut.
The vibrations of the clippers on the base of his neck made Viktor shiver. He felt the hungry blades being pushed up the back of his head, biting and gnawing at the hair in its path. Viktor tried his best to control his breathing and stroked Makkachin in time with his inhales and exhales.
After a few more passes of the clippers, light pressure on his left temple encouraged him to tilt his head to the right, and Viktor complied. He could feel Yuuri's practiced fingers folding his ear over for better access, and could feel the vibrations in his body as the clippers came close to his ear. He began to squirm in his seat, naturally trying to pull away from the noise, but Yuuri put a hand on his shoulder, with just enough pressure to be both comforting and firm, to both make him feel better and make him stay in place. The clippers reached his temple and cleared the area around his ear in a few short passes. His head was gently tilted to the left, and the process was repeated.
The clippers were shut off and the clips were removed, letting his layers fall over his newly-short undercut. Viktor opened his eyes, one at a time, to see Yuuri standing in front of him.
"You did so good Viktor," Yuuri said with a smile, and Viktor felt his cheeks heat up. "I'm proud of you." It took Viktor a moment to realize that these were his own words being used on him, words he's used on Yuuri to get the younger boy through anxiety, panic, and doubt. Viktor gave a small smile at the thought. If the words were helping him calm down, then he must be doing something right when he uses them on Yuuri.
"The hard part's over now," Yuuri said, raising the scissors he held between his fingers. They glinted in the dull light from the desk lamp. Viktor gulped but nodded, letting Makkachin off of his lap so he wouldn't get covered in hair. The poodle settled himself by the closed door of the room and closed his eyes.
Yuuri smiled at Viktor before going behind him again. The shock of water hitting his head from the spray bottle made Viktor's eyes open wide in surprise, before the pleasure of the comb in his hair made his eyes close in serenity. Without a mirror present where he was forced to stare at his scared and embarrassed state, and without the setting of a traditional shop with other people present where it would be strange to close one's eyes, Viktor was actually almost able to feel...comfortable.
The comb lifted a lock of his hair, and after a second's hesitation, the scissors bit into the hair. Viktor once again flinched in surprise, but Yuuri's hand was right there following it, putting a pleasurable pressure on his shoulder. The process repeated.
Comb, lift, snip.
Comb, lift, snip.
Comb, lift, snip.
Just when Viktor found himself getting lost in the comfortable rhythm, Yuuri's voice pierced the quiet.
"Viktor?" Yuuri sounded tentative, unsure.
"Hmm?"
"There's something I've been curious about..." Yuuri dragged out his question.
"And that would be?"
"Why did you cut your hair short?" Yuuri asked quickly, pushing the words out before he could take them back. Viktor stiffened in the chair.
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Viktor, you don't have to answer that if you don't want to-"
"It's ok," Viktor cut him off, words deliberate and slow, as if stalling for time. "Why are you curious?"
Yuuri sputtered behind him, looking for the words. "Well, it's just, earlier you said you really don't like your hair long. Considering you had it long for years, I just wanted to know what brought that change on. I just want to learn more about you, Viktor."
Viktor nodded in understanding. "Ok. I'll tell you. But keep cutting, alright? The faster we get this over with, the better." He could visualize Yuuri viciously nodding his head behind him. He took a deep breath.
"Ever since I became a professional figure skater, there wasn't much that I was allowed to control about my life. My diet, my training, and—most of all—my appearance, were out of my hands."
"Yakov knew that my androgynous look, with the sparkly outfits and long hair, is what drew the fans to me, especially the girls. And one day, I just got sick of having every little aspect of my life controlled. I just wanted one thing to be mine. So, I decided that thing was going to be my hair."
"I snuck off to the bathroom right before a major competition and chopped off that ponytail. I was upset—I'd had long hair since forever—but at the same time, it was liberating. Yakov had a cow, and a stylist had to come and try to fix it in the five minutes before I went on the ice. But I couldn't stop smiling, and I still consider it one of my best performances to date."
The only sound in the room was that of the scissors as Yuuri continued his job.
"That...that sounds like a good thing?" Viktor tentatively spoke, confused. "You did something liberating after being oppressed for so long, so how exactly did an anxiety manifest out of it?"
Viktor sighed. "I'm not completely sure, if we're being honest. I guess part of the reason I grew it long in the first place to avoid getting it cut frequently. But all I know is I don't want to go back to that place. I know I don't want to be controlled anymore. I know that the feeling of hair on my neck when it gets too long makes me upset. And if an anxiety-ridden haircut once a month is all I need to avoid that, then it's worth it. Because sometimes in life, Yuuri, you just have to do things for yourself."
"Like coming to Japan to coach me?"
"Exactly like that."
Yuuri moved in front of Viktor and crouched down, scissors and comb in hand.
"Close your eyes," Yuuri whispered, and Viktor obeyed. He could feel his overgrown bangs being combed over his eyes before being trimmed away. He opened the eye that wasn't completely covered by hair and looked down at the raven-haired boy, who was biting his lip in concentration. His eyes met Viktor's and his gaze softened.
"You're going to get hair in your eyes, idiot," Yuuri said warmly with a soft smile, no malice behind the insult.
"I can't just close my eyes and ignore the view," Viktor smirked.
Yuuri sighed and playfully rolled his eyes before finishing evening up the bangs. He rose back to his full height with a grunt and assessed his work.
"Not bad, if I do say so myself." Now it was Yuuri's turn to smirk. Viktor could see the pride in his eyes at his craftsmanship.
"Do you want to see it?"
"Do you think it looks good?" Viktor countered Yuuri's question with one of his own, catching him off guard.
"I...I think it looks perfect," Yuuri sputtered as his cheeks grew impossibly red. "You...you're perfect, Viktor."
Yuuri leaned in and brushed the cut bangs to the side, placing his lips softly on Viktor's cheek. Now it was his turn to blush furiously.
"What was that for?"
"Because sometimes in life, Viktor, you just have to do things for yourself."