Seafoam Trim

Despite the orientation of the pair of blades, they sting as he takes them away. It reminds him of winter’s chill in full, with his fingers seeping through holes, with the warmth seeping away from him and his niisan’s hands.

“I thought you wanted independence by cutting your own Hair?”

He wants to believe it comes out like usual. A bit harsh, critical, yet comfortable all the same. 

“I did ‘say’ that, didn’t I?” Kanata muses. “I was fine with my ‘bangs’ that one time, that’s true. But when I finally wanted to ‘hack off’ the back, I needed help from Chiaki.”

The melody of his voice is fond, as if that hero had already saved and helped him acclimate to living on land, long, long ago.

Settling into his chair with a creak, his niisan continues. “I trust Nacchan with my ‘trim’~ After all, he has enough confidence to cut his own hair in such an ‘interesting’ style.”

Natsume smiles, holding up the comb in his other hand and brushing out the ends of hair at his nape. With every snip, weight becomes displaced. His heart grows heavier, with Kanata’s head becoming lighter, as strands fall to the floor—blades still cold to the touch when his niisan stands and meets his face. 

Peck.

“…Was that a thank You?” Like a reward from a freed princess, and nothing more?

“It ‘means’ whatever Nacchan wants it to mean. Whether you let the memory ‘dissolve’ into seafoam, or decide to cup it between your hands… I love you, Nacchan.”

So he could be knowingly cruel too.

With an exhale, Natsume watches Kanata withdraw from him, humming merrily as he makes his way over to the showers at his own pace.

“As if I could ever forget about everything that’s happened, Kanata-niisan.”