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Entry tags:
KHR Rarepair Week - Cloud - Hair Braiding/Brushing
Ken insists on hair cutting duty, for the most part. It's something which has been the same ever since they were young, and had first managed to crawl out from the dirt and blood that used to be the Estraneo compound. How good he is at it is something else entirely, one could argue, and yet that doesn't change the fact that it is a duty which he does almost all of the time.
However, when it comes to himself, Ken simply seems to cut it haphazardly, in whatever manner keeps it out of his face for the most part. If it is neat, or lays flat on his skull, those are entirely different concerns, and they are not concerns that Ken has.
With Mukuro and Chrome, well... He does seem to put in far more effort there. He fusses, and he tugs hair straight, and he forces his claws to not get in the way as he does hair parts in one particular manner and pulls it all back into a high ponytail. Mukuro has gotten so used to it for the most part that he has to admit that he hardly thinks twice. Chrome doesn't seem to care either way, although, the longer she spends with those new friends of hers, the more she starts to wear it all down regardless.
It is only Chikusa who refuses, and has to painstakingly do it all by himself.
In a life as dangerous and unpredictable as theirs, familiarity is not a comfort they are often permitted to have. It has been that way for years now, ever since they were children. The few things which are familiar tend to be that which keeps them alive. Familiarity with themselves, familiarity with each other, and familiarity in the things that they are capable of. And maybe it is familiarity which has Chikusa insistently keep the same hair style that he has had ever since he was a child.
A grip on familiarity so strong that it has him stubbornly squinting into the reflections of dirty windows, or into a video camera lens, or through a hand mirror stolen from a cheap store while he guides the scissors exactly so.
The problem of course, is that he is but a boy in the end. He can only see that which his eyes are capable of seeing. Unfortunately, that means certain areas of his own skull are barred from him, as reality often does to people. It is in times such as those that he has to rely on another. And, almost every time, that other is Mukuro.
It is fine, he thinks as his fingers stroke patiently through tangled dark hair, that Ken is normally allowed to be the one to fiddle with hair. So brutish, so best attuned for battle, he can often feel aimless and restless outside of it. Best to let him have just a little bit of something, so that he doesn't raise up too much of a fuss. But during days like these, where he can toy and play with Chikusa's hair all that he likes.... Mukuro has to admit that there is a pleasure in it for him, too.
A pleasure in feeling that lovely smooth hair that Chikusa is so picky about keeping cleaning and trapped underneath his beanie. A pleasure in seeing that which is so often hidden. A pleasure in getting to toy with him exactly as he likes, his hands on him giving him a little physical reminder of what a doll Chikusa is in his grip.
Carefully, with more gentleness than he bothers to spare for anything else, Mukuro's fingers delve deep against Chikusa's scalp. Against the feeling of the ugly scars there marring the skin nearest to his skull, his brain, where scalpels once drew blood.
Is it still so sensitive, even after all these years? Even despite how he feels no pain otherwise?
Chikusa has never said otherwise, and Mukuro supposes he doesn't care. This is Chikusa, exactly as he's always been, and Chikkusa there so quiet and pliant underneath his hand even as he takes a blade close to his skin - albeit in a completely different manner than from they were children.
"Maybe we should simply let it grow long, after all this time," Mukuro says one day when he's doing it - long after they've left Italy, settled neatly into Japan for the time being. He chuckles at the mental image, of just what Chikusa would look like, even as he pinches that dark dark hair inbetween the length of two fingers. "You could look like quite the romantic head lead."
Even standing behind him, Mukuro can imagine perfectly what kind of expression Chikusa makes at that. "...I'll pass... Mukuro-sama. If it's all the same to you..."
Ha. Well, he can't deny - at least to himself - that it was said mostly to stroke that kind of reaction out of Chikusa more than anything else. For all that Chikusa has a perfect fine face, and the kind of height that earns stares in a country like Japan, his general apathy and tendency to stick to the background means most people glance over him completely.
That's just fine by him. Smirking a little bit to himself, Mukuro finishes the last snip and deftly winds together strands of hair into a tiny little braid. Something that will hide easy underneath one of Chikusa's many beanies, and yet which he always knows will be there himself. Because if it's Chikusa.... He'll keep it right there in place, for as long as he possibly can.
No matter what else might happen to him.
"I don't mind at all," he says, setting the scissors to the side at long last where they catch the light filtering in through all the holes of Kokuyo Land. Content as can be, a predator that's gorged itself, he leans forward against Chikusa's back, and winds his arms around those skinny shoulders of his. "After all...
"No one else's eyes being on you means that you're just all for me."
However, when it comes to himself, Ken simply seems to cut it haphazardly, in whatever manner keeps it out of his face for the most part. If it is neat, or lays flat on his skull, those are entirely different concerns, and they are not concerns that Ken has.
With Mukuro and Chrome, well... He does seem to put in far more effort there. He fusses, and he tugs hair straight, and he forces his claws to not get in the way as he does hair parts in one particular manner and pulls it all back into a high ponytail. Mukuro has gotten so used to it for the most part that he has to admit that he hardly thinks twice. Chrome doesn't seem to care either way, although, the longer she spends with those new friends of hers, the more she starts to wear it all down regardless.
It is only Chikusa who refuses, and has to painstakingly do it all by himself.
In a life as dangerous and unpredictable as theirs, familiarity is not a comfort they are often permitted to have. It has been that way for years now, ever since they were children. The few things which are familiar tend to be that which keeps them alive. Familiarity with themselves, familiarity with each other, and familiarity in the things that they are capable of. And maybe it is familiarity which has Chikusa insistently keep the same hair style that he has had ever since he was a child.
A grip on familiarity so strong that it has him stubbornly squinting into the reflections of dirty windows, or into a video camera lens, or through a hand mirror stolen from a cheap store while he guides the scissors exactly so.
The problem of course, is that he is but a boy in the end. He can only see that which his eyes are capable of seeing. Unfortunately, that means certain areas of his own skull are barred from him, as reality often does to people. It is in times such as those that he has to rely on another. And, almost every time, that other is Mukuro.
It is fine, he thinks as his fingers stroke patiently through tangled dark hair, that Ken is normally allowed to be the one to fiddle with hair. So brutish, so best attuned for battle, he can often feel aimless and restless outside of it. Best to let him have just a little bit of something, so that he doesn't raise up too much of a fuss. But during days like these, where he can toy and play with Chikusa's hair all that he likes.... Mukuro has to admit that there is a pleasure in it for him, too.
A pleasure in feeling that lovely smooth hair that Chikusa is so picky about keeping cleaning and trapped underneath his beanie. A pleasure in seeing that which is so often hidden. A pleasure in getting to toy with him exactly as he likes, his hands on him giving him a little physical reminder of what a doll Chikusa is in his grip.
Carefully, with more gentleness than he bothers to spare for anything else, Mukuro's fingers delve deep against Chikusa's scalp. Against the feeling of the ugly scars there marring the skin nearest to his skull, his brain, where scalpels once drew blood.
Is it still so sensitive, even after all these years? Even despite how he feels no pain otherwise?
Chikusa has never said otherwise, and Mukuro supposes he doesn't care. This is Chikusa, exactly as he's always been, and Chikkusa there so quiet and pliant underneath his hand even as he takes a blade close to his skin - albeit in a completely different manner than from they were children.
"Maybe we should simply let it grow long, after all this time," Mukuro says one day when he's doing it - long after they've left Italy, settled neatly into Japan for the time being. He chuckles at the mental image, of just what Chikusa would look like, even as he pinches that dark dark hair inbetween the length of two fingers. "You could look like quite the romantic head lead."
Even standing behind him, Mukuro can imagine perfectly what kind of expression Chikusa makes at that. "...I'll pass... Mukuro-sama. If it's all the same to you..."
Ha. Well, he can't deny - at least to himself - that it was said mostly to stroke that kind of reaction out of Chikusa more than anything else. For all that Chikusa has a perfect fine face, and the kind of height that earns stares in a country like Japan, his general apathy and tendency to stick to the background means most people glance over him completely.
That's just fine by him. Smirking a little bit to himself, Mukuro finishes the last snip and deftly winds together strands of hair into a tiny little braid. Something that will hide easy underneath one of Chikusa's many beanies, and yet which he always knows will be there himself. Because if it's Chikusa.... He'll keep it right there in place, for as long as he possibly can.
No matter what else might happen to him.
"I don't mind at all," he says, setting the scissors to the side at long last where they catch the light filtering in through all the holes of Kokuyo Land. Content as can be, a predator that's gorged itself, he leans forward against Chikusa's back, and winds his arms around those skinny shoulders of his. "After all...
"No one else's eyes being on you means that you're just all for me."