メロウレイン / Futtara Doshaburi Mellow Rain

A Date in the Bathtub

 

Hiiragi awoke to the faintest touch, as light as a feather.

 

“…Fujisawa-san.”

 

“Sorry, I woke you.”

 

“Mm… no…”

 

Apparently, it had been Kazuaki’s fingers brushing his hair that had gently coaxed Hiiragi’s eyelids open.

 

Kazuaki curled his fingers and used their backs to lift a section of hair just above Hiiragi’s ear.

 

“It’s sticking up spectacularly,” he said with a laugh.

 

“No way!”

 

Hiiragi had been lying with one cheek pressed against the pillow, still enjoying the thick, lingering sweetness of sleep. At those words, however, he immediately sat up.

 

He reached up to check for himself. Sure enough, the ends of his hair were spreading wildly in every direction in that particular spot. He could tell he had an impressive case of bed hair without even looking in a mirror.

 

“Oh, great…”

 

Short hair was probably more difficult to straighten once it had developed a stubborn kink. From root to tip, it now resembled an old, worn-out broom.

 

“And I dried it properly, too.”

 

Considering that Kazuaki himself had been the one wielding the hairdryer, there was no reason to doubt him.

 

“This doesn’t normally happen, but ever since I cut my own hair, it’s been sticking up all over the place…”

 

Even while explaining, Hiiragi repeatedly tried to smooth it down with his fingers. His hair showed absolutely no intention of cooperating.

 

“I suppose that’s what happens when an amateur just chops away at it.”

 

“You’ve got the day off today, haven’t you? Why not go somewhere and have it tidied up?”

 

“Fujisawa-san, today’s Monday.”

 

Hiiragi laughed softly.

 

Discovering little gaps in Kazuaki’s seemingly perfect composure made him happy. Or perhaps relieved would be a better word.

 

Strangely enough, Kazuaki’s own assessment of himself seemed to be that he was hopelessly absent-minded about everything.

 

Hiiragi couldn’t understand it at all.

 

“Ah, of course. Barbers are closed on Mondays. I’d completely forgotten because I never go myself.”

 

“Eh? Then how do you get your hair cut?”

 

“I cut it myself. I’ve been doing it since around secondary school, I think.”

 

“That’s amazing.”

 

“Not particularly. It’s the same amateur 

work as yours.”

 

“No, no! Yours looks so much better than mine!”

 

“Just practice, I suppose.”

 

Kazuaki calmly explained that making appointments was bothersome, describing exactly what hairstyle he wanted in clear and specific terms was surprisingly difficult, and because his work didn’t require him to leave the house every day, it wouldn’t be a disaster if he made a slight mistake.

 

“…Have you ever cut anyone else’s hair?”

 

“Of course not. I don’t have a licence, and I couldn’t take responsibility for it.”

 

But that doesn’t actually mean he doesn’t want to, does it?

 

Hiiragi hesitated.

 

What should he do?

 

Eventually, he decided to take the plunge. He knew perfectly well that even if Kazuaki refused, he wasn’t the sort of person who would be offended and accuse him of being cheeky.

 

“Then… what if I asked you to cut my hair?”

 

Kazuaki, who had still been lying down, slowly sat up and gazed intently at Hiiragi’s unruly hair.

 

Of course, looking at his hair also meant having a perfectly clear view of the face beneath it. Embarrassed, Hiiragi found his gaze wandering.

 

“I’m not especially confident.”

 

Hiiragi, on the other hand, was completely confident that Kazuaki would do an excellent job.

 

“Oh, don’t think about it so seriously. It’s not like I have a job where I’m constantly meeting people, either, so it doesn’t really matter how it turns out. If you’re unhappy with it, Kazuaki-san, you could just shave the whole lot off and start again.”

 

He had intended the last part as an obvious joke. Kazuaki, however, shook his head with an entirely serious expression.

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You’d catch a cold.”

 

“Ah… would I…?”

 

“…No. That wasn’t an entirely honest answer. It’s not that I was attracted to you solely because of your appearance, but I do love everything about the way you look, including your hair. So I’d be a little sad to lose it.”

 

“Y-yes.”

 

Hiiragi nodded repeatedly.

 

“I won’t. I absolutely won’t,” he promised in a strangely high-pitched voice.

 

“I see. That’s good.”

 

Relief softened Kazuaki’s expression as he stroked Hiiragi’s dishevelled hair. The tenderness in that gesture was so unmistakable that Hiiragi could no longer dismiss it as wishful thinking. Kazuaki touched him as though he were someone infinitely precious, someone he simply couldn’t bear to lose.

 

Rather than making his heart race, it made his heart go terribly still. It remained silent, as though something were slowly squeezing it upwards from below.

 

The ache was startlingly real, and yet Hiiragi didn’t find it painful in the slightest. It was only that whenever his chest ached in this particular way, he became painfully aware of just how hopeless a person he was becoming.

 

He didn’t want to go anywhere. He didn’t want to go to work. He didn’t want to do anything at all.

 

He wanted to stay exactly like this, being affectionate with Kazuaki for days, years, forever.

 

And the fact that such a wish couldn’t come true made him genuinely sad.

 

“All right, then. I’ll just trim it a little.”

 

Kazuaki swept Hiiragi’s fringe aside as though checking the curve of his forehead.

Hiiragi sat on the edge of the bathtub with his feet inside the empty tub, a bath towel wrapped around his neck.

 

Kazuaki fastened the towel at the nape of his neck with a clothes peg, then turned on the tap, dampened his hands and moistened Hiiragi’s hair.

 

A leather case containing two pairs of scissors and a comb rested on the slightly wider corner of the bathtub.

 

One pair was for cutting, the other for 

thinning.

 

The metal gleamed dully with a slightly muted sheen. Like everything else in this house, they were probably tools Kazuaki had selected with careful consideration.

 

Kazuaki picked up the ordinary scissors, narrowed his eyes and peered through the slightly parted blades.

 

Hiiragi no longer thought Kazuaki cold or 

mechanical, as he had when they first met. Nevertheless, those carefully maintained silver blades suited him extraordinarily well.

 

Far better than, say, a puppy, freshly baked bread or a feather duvet.

 

And perhaps that was precisely why the softness and occasional awkwardness Kazuaki revealed made Hiiragi so unbearably happy.

 

Snip. Snip.

 

After cutting sharply through the air a few times, Kazuaki touched the back of Hiiragi’s head.

 

He trapped a small section of hair between two fingers and cut away the part protruding beyond them.

 

At least, Hiiragi assumed that was what he had done.

 

He couldn’t actually see.

 

“…What’s wrong?”

 

A sigh came from behind him, and Hiiragi almost turned around. Kazuaki gently steadied his shoulder.

 

“I’m nervous.”

 

“I feel as though I’ve done something irreversible.”

 

“Eh? Did you cut that much?”

 

“No. About five millimetres.”

 

Is he still worried he’s going to have to shave my head?

 

“Oh, that’s all? It’s fine. It’ll grow back quickly.”

 

“I know that, but…”

 

Despite his words, Kazuaki’s hands moved with complete assurance.

 

Snip. Snip.

 

With a conscientious, steady rhythm, he gradually made Hiiragi’s head a little lighter.

 

It seemed Kazuaki already had a clear image of the finished result in his mind.

 

“I remember hearing somewhere that memories aren’t stored solely in the brain.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“And I found myself thinking something rather ridiculous. If that’s true, perhaps your hair contains several months’ worth of me, too.”

 

Snip. Snip. Snip.

 

Hiiragi’s hair was cut away, separated from him, and fell.

 

That hair was also a part of Hiiragi’s time.

Even if it carried only the tiniest weight of memory, was a part of the Kazuaki who had accumulated within him being separated from his body along with it?

 

“Then cutting your hair to get over a broken heart actually makes sense.”

 

“Obviously, it doesn’t. Hair doesn’t even have nerves. …But when I’m with you, I sometimes find myself thinking things that couldn’t possibly be true.”

 

Kazuaki murmured those words while continuing to work his way upwards over Hiiragi’s head.

 

Then, quite suddenly, he said, “Hiiragi, you have two hair whorls.”

 

The unexpected observation distracted Hiiragi so completely that he missed his opportunity to ask whether Kazuaki considered those strange thoughts a good thing or a bad thing.

 

“O-oh. Really…?”

 

There was something embarrassing about having the person you loved discover something about you that you didn’t even know yourself.

 

Just as Hiiragi began feeling strangely flustered, something cool brushed past the area above his ear, making him catch his breath.

 

“Mm…”

 

Kazuaki’s hand stopped immediately.

 

“Hiiragi.”

 

“What?”

 

“I know perfectly well you don’t mean anything by it, but when you make noises like that, I find it difficult to remain calm. I’d appreciate it if you could restrain yourself.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Especially since you already have a habit of startling me while looking completely innocent.”

 

Shouldn’t that be the other way around?

 

“Really? When?”

 

“Just now.”

 

“Eh? Eh?”

 

Kazuaki sighed again.

 

“When you so casually told me it didn’t matter what I did to you, it put me in a difficult position.”

 

“Ehh…”

 

Hiiragi’s neck felt strangely ticklish, as though the loose strands of hair were brushing against it.

 

“…Because hearing that makes me happy. That’s why it’s difficult.”

 

Does that mean I should be careful not to say things like that again? Or is it all right?

Would asking only put Kazuaki in an even more awkward position?

 

For the moment, Hiiragi was simply grateful that Kazuaki couldn’t see his face.

His ears were so hot that he almost wished Kazuaki would press the cold scissors against them.