Archive of Our Own ^beta

A soft knock on the door.

“Tsuguha? It’s me.”

The one who called you names.

The one who cut your hair off.

The one who blighted our lady; the one who betrayed you all.

“Can I come in?”

The door opened, flooding the hall with sunlight. Tsuguha appeared, wearing an oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, glasses askew. A case of bedhead did nothing for the choppy haircut Aiha had forced upon her. Yet she was smiling behind a wide yawn. “Aiha senpai? I just woke up. I’ve been taking it easy while Kazuma san recovers.” She opened the door wider, inviting her guest in
Aiha let a shuddering breath escape as she stepped forward. Tsuguha was—Tsuguha was too kind. She didn’t harbor any resentment against the girl before her, who had tried so hard to make her life miserable. Aiha waited to feel annoyance at the other’s behavior—so sickeningly, genuinely forgiving—but instead, soft admiration shaped a smile on her lips. She forced it down. Her reason for stopping by was a serious one.

“Tsuguha, this is for you.” A heavy basket weighed down the bespectacled girl’s outstretched arms. “It’s filled with hair essentials from the far shore. There’s gel, mousse, a comb, a bristle hair brush, shampoo—”

“Wait, what? Why do I need all this?” Tsuguha backtracked. “I appreciate it, senpai, but…”

“You need it to fix your hair,” the shinki replied. “I’m the one who ruined it, so it’s my responsibility.”

Tsuguha tugged at a crooked hank of hair falling into her face. “It’s not so bad. I’ve gotten used to it. Anyways, I have my hat to cover it.”

Oh, that hat. Aiha hated that hat. It clashed with the uniform terribly, especially the strange balloon shorts Tsuguha chose to wear with it. Not to mention the fur lining…didn’t she get hot wearing it in Takamagahara, where the weather was always so mild? It was unacceptable.

Aiha shook her head, curls swaying. “I want to reverse at least some of the damage I’ve done. Please.”

Tsuguha wanted to protest, but the words died in her mouth at Aiha’s earnest face. Her senpai was undeniably cute; strawberry tresses neatly held in place with a ribbon. If her own was any indication, she was probably good at styling hair—when she wasn’t spitefully hacking way with scissors. Besides, it wasn’t like any more damage could be done. Probably.

The brunette sat in the chair the other pulled out, facing the vanity mirror in the room. Aiha took the basket of supplies and set it in front of her, pulling out the items one at a time and explaining their use. Tsuguha’s eyes glazed over, focus waning in proportion to the amount of items now cluttering the table. By the time Aiha reached leave-in conditioner (“as the name implies, you leave this in your hair overnight for a deep moisturizing treatment”) she couldn’t take anymore.

“Senpai, how about you just do it for me?”

Aiha set a bottle down. This was exactly what she hoped for. Still, was hesitant. “Are you sure?”

A nod.

Carefully, the strawberry blonde selected a wide toothed comb and began working on tangles. At first, there was an awkward silence between them, broken only by Aiha’s frustrated huffs when she hit a particularly large snarl. But after a couple minutes of silence, she spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a whisper, barely audible. Tsuguha leaned back. “You already said that, didn’t you?” She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of fingers in her hair now that the painful detangling was over. “You’re helping me now, so we’re even.”

Aiha pushed up her sleeves and reached for a bottle—something that smelled like flowers—and began working it into a lather. “I’m going to work hard for you.”

And she did. Tsuguha couldn’t believe the end result. It was still short—nothing could change that—but it was sleek and shining. Somehow, the whole thing had been made to lie flat. There was still an empty space above her head where her bun should be, but the pain was lessened by the adult feeling of how her hair swished around her neck when she turned, admiring herself in the mirror.

“Senpai! I’m impressed.”

They stylist’s cheeks were flushed from exertion, and she beamed at Tsuguha. “I’m happy you like it. Oh, and just call me Aiha.”

“Aiha.” Tsuguha turned, straddling the chair to face the other girl. There was something nice about leaving off the honorific, something that implied familiarity and friendship. “Now it’s my turn to do your hair.”

Aiha squeaked, clapping hands to the side of her head. “You can’t! If it gets brushed out, the curls go crazy! Do you even know how to do anything other than a bun?”

Tsuguha swung her legs. “Nope.”

For the rest of the day they experimented. Tsuguha found that Aiha had not lied about what would happen when her locks were brushed out, as well as how difficult it was to do someone else’s hair. Eventually, she ended up just running her fingers through the other’s poufy hair. It was long, like hers used to be, and soft and sweet smelling.

Aiha sat on the floor while the other played with her tresses. “We’ll have to think of some different ways to wear your hair, too. Accessories and things. Maybe a ribbon.” She thought Tsuguha’s hair was perfect the way it was—the repair job was nothing short of a miracle. Hadn’t she worn her own hair the same way for centuries? She smiled, feeling warm fingers twist her hair into a loose braid. She needed an excuse to be like this again.

Tsuguha didn’t see why she couldn’t wear her hair the same way every day, either. But the two divine garments weren’t so different in their reasoning, and she didn’t hesitate in her answer. “Yes. Definitely”