[Summary] Bun-Nyuh needs a haircut, but see is already in serious debt because of the money the antique gift shop owes to the bank. Unable to afford a professional stylist, she asks Yang to trim her hair. And as her employee, he agrees.
~Not for the Birds~
In front of the bathroom mirror, Bun-Nyuh's hand shook terribly as she lifted the hair-cutting scissors up to her head. Her arm jittered uncontrollably, as if every muscle within it was terrified to be still. From within the mirror, her reflection's eyes welled up with tears, piercing her own eyes on the other side with a look of shame and anger. This was ridiculous. Why the hell couldn't she cut her own goddamn hair?
She had never been able to. As a child, she would whine and wail every time her grandmother attempted to cut her hair. She would scream and squirm beneath her grandmother's firm grip, as she held the girl down as if she were a reluctant sheep being sheered for its wool. The younger Bun-Nyuh would rather take her chances with the scary men in the storage room, than be subject to her grandmother's rusty jamming scissors. However, she had just been a kid then; a child. Surely, she would have grown out of this stupid fear by now.
Determination fixed her features into a dogged expression. Her muscles steadied their quivering as she slowly exhaled; bracing herself. Clamping her fingers firmly within the scissors' looped handles, she grabbed a random lock of hair with her free hand. As she raised the scissors up to her head once more, her bones stiffened in cowardice protest and her arm began to quake violently. Her eyeballs became uncomfortably warm in an overflowing bath of tears - but she was not going to let her childish and irrational fear beat her again. With a trembling hand, she opened the scissors slightly ajar, but her shaking was so severe that she had no control over the open blades. They flicked across her right cheek, leaving the finest of scratches. Her full cheeks were soon streaked in bright red, as her tears dragged the pea sized cherry droplets towards her chin as they ran down her face. Grunting in frustration, Bun-Nyuh threw the silver scissors at the mirror with a loud clang, before they rattled against the bone white sink bowl.
If this damned store made any sort of money, she would not have this problem. As it was now, she was averaging less than two customers a day - sometimes even none - as the debts she owed to the bank drove her deeper and deeper into the ground, dragging her spirits lower and lower. She had not even managed to pay the electricity company for the last few months. Their numerous threatening letters had become little more than confetti strewn across her home. They might as well be writing to Santa Claus - they would be more likely to get a response - she just did not have the money to pay them. Soon, even the Antique Gift Shop would be steeped in darkness and shadow. Who the hell wants to buy goods from an unlit store? Now, since Bun-Nyuh did not have the money for a decent haircut, its owner would look like shit.
Even if she had the money, going to the hairdressers was mortally embarrassing. She would always have to pay them extra for all the trouble she would cause. As soon as the poor unsuspecting hairstylist began to snip as her hair, Bun-Nyuh would begin to weep. When the woman asks her what the matter was, she would roar, like the most foul of banshees, for the hairdresser to persist until the job was done. Curling up like a child in the stylist's chair, Bun-Nyuh would sit there as full fat tears leaked from her eyes. Shaking, she would suppress her yowls and moans until the lump in her throat threatened to smother her windpipe. Then, nearly an hour later, she would leave, leaving the staff of said establishment seriously considering a career change.
This was the end. She was going to go bankrupt. The store would be closed down. Bun-Nyuh would never sell all of the antiques. She would never be able to go to S University. Becoming a destitute shaman was not going to be fun.
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Bun-Nyuh emerged through the shop's beaded curtain with a child's band-aid plastered on her right cheek. Her eyes were rosy and puffed her expression the epitome of defeat. The shop was well stocked, but empty - except for Yang. She did not want to talk to him, or explain the state she was in. But knowing him and his mysterious knowledge of her intimate personal affairs, he probably already knew. Sometimes, it was as if he knew more about her than she did. As if he had been with Bun-Nyuh every step of her life, but had been paying much closer attention.
Dropping heavily on to her seat, like a weighty rock into tranquil water, Bun-Nyuh slammed the scissors down on the glass counter with a grimace-worthy clink. Turning away from his cleaning work, Yang walked over to the sulking girl and examined her. He had managed to keep his ebony hair loose again today; one of Bun-Nyuh's pet hates. Extending a single long finger, he lifted a flopping curtain of hair from her bowed head, to reveal the scowling face of Bun-Nyuh. Complete with band-aid and tear assaulted eyes, she did not look as hostile as she would have liked.
"What happened?" he asked, nearly casually. He was more than used to her dramas by now.
Bun-Nyuh glared up at him in return for his concern. Something about him constantly irked her. She did not know what it was; he was always very polite and stunningly beautiful even more often. It seemed that he was doing his utmost to make her aware of her faults, without ever actually pointing them out. She knew that this was not his intent, but still, it did not stop him having that effect.
However, she was 99.9 percent certain that he was never going away. If he were going to leave, he would have done so a fair few moons ago.
"I tried to cut my hair." she answered him in weary staccato.
"It doesn't look particularly different…" he commented, his eyes lingering on her many split ends before her sharp frown pushed him back to a more respectful distance.
"I didn't manage it.," she admitted, sighing and allowing her body to relax from its defensively stiff shape. Bun-Nyuh refused to make eye contact with him. She did not want to "talk" about her issues; being more than happy to leave them, as they were - undisclosed and un-discussed. Opening up was not something she was fond of doing, especially with Yang.
"How come?" he prompted patiently. Looking up, Bun-Nyuh could see in his expression that he could tell she was avoiding the true question.
"I just can't." she said in a blunt, but near courteous manor.
"Can't?" he echoed.
"Can't." she replied, knowing that she was confirming some sort of notion in Yang's head.
Their eyes were glued now. Bun-Nyuh did not know how he did it, but Yang had a knack for lifting her gaze from wherever she had set it, and fixing it to his own. She was now fully aware of how piercing and intrusive his gaze could be.
His lips made the movement of a silent "Oh…" as understanding spread through his handsome features.
"Well, its understandable." he began, he almost sounded relieved. "Humans have phobias, fears, of many things-"
"I'm not scared!" she protested, cutting across him. "I know nothing's going to happen. It's just…"
Shame weighed heavily on her gaze, causing it to fall free and snap from Yang's.
"It unnerves you." said Yang, his voice as soft as the whispers of a spring stream. "The thought of losing, even the smallest part of yourself inspires a deep sadness within you - that even you yourself don't fully understand."
"Might…" Just as she thought. He was far, far too knowledgeable of her personal affairs, inner thoughts and feelings. More than she herself was.
He flashed her the warmest of smiles - that never failed to make her heart stir curiously from its tight rosebud-like ball - before turning away.
"Hey!" exclaimed Bun-Nyuh, jumping onto the counter with the grace of a dizzy cat. Yang whirled round, causing his lengthy dark hair to swing in a swirling torrent around his torso. On her knees a-top the shop counter, she beckoned him over with a fistful of white ribbon. Looking slightly bewildered Yang stood in front of her scanning her purposeful expression. None too gently, she grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him round.
"I've told you time and time again…" she lectured as she gathered fast amounts of his silky waist length hair in her hands, before twisting it into a bun-like-ponytail and fastening it with the ribbon. As she pulled at the ribbon, Yang winced ever so slightly. She was far too rough for a woman. "…To tie your goddamn hair!"
Her fingers had become entangled within the many velvety strands, as embarrassment coloured her damaged cheeks. Shamelessly smiling, Yang reached round and untangled her. Turning round, he was faced with a grumpy, but irrefutably blushing shop owner. He continued to hold her hand in his for a few fleeting seconds, before she slipped it free.
"So what are you going to do about your hair?" he asked brightly, neatening his own from the disorderly mess she had made of it.
Bun-Nyuh sat cross-legged on the counter-top, running her fingers along its edge for a few moments of silent consideration.
"I don't know." she replied at last. "I never pay you; what do you do?"
"I cut it myself." he answered with a humble pride lingering in his voice.
"Liar." she snapped at once. "You're just fishing for compliments now." Distrust shaped her features and shone through her eyes as bright and obvious as vehicle headlights.
"Untrue." he replied calmly and honestly, as he set about collecting the shop's cleaning things away.
Bun-Nyuh watched him closely, as excess suspicion foamed from her brain. He had to be lying. No one with hair that gorgeous cuts it themselves. Serious money has to be spent on it. Nothing that luxurious is free. But then again, a supposedly uneducated man can't know as much as Yang knew about antiques; or go months without a pay check. But Bun-Nyuh knew deep within her heart, that she had never known Yang to lie to her. He was secretive, but not a liar. There must be something - just one thing he was not telling her; one fact - that would make him make sense.
But she could not find it. Moreover, a strong and forceful certainty resided within Bun-Nyuh; telling her, that he would never explain himself to her. No matter. She would just have to look that little bit harder.
Yang emerged from the cleaning cupboard and checked a grandfather clock that was currently in the shop's possession. Half an hour until closing. As they were nearing the end of the winter months, the sun was still claimed early by the darker skies of night, meaning that a sate of lethargy was brought on earlier still.
"If you can cut your own hair…," said Bun-Nyuh, holding the scissors in a precise northwards direction. Her tone was as if she were posing a challenge, or a test. "… That would mean you could cut my hair as well, right?"
"Yes." he replied, weaving his fingers together and looking very pleased.
"Alright." she said, assuming he had agreed to take on a task many of the local hairdressers would flee from. "But we'll do it after hours; I don't want you slacking off work."
As soon as Bun-Nyuh's mouth closed and her tongue lay still, several clicking noises sounded from the ceiling. As abrupt as a heart attack hits a mortal, the shop was swallowed by a ravenous darkness. Every electric wire had run dry. As Bun-Nyuh was so fond of reminding her customers: Nothing in this life is free. Under the all-obscuring cloak of darkness, she commenced in spewing the most distasteful of curses towards her damned Antique Gift Shop and impatient electricity company; none of which were listening.
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After calming an enraged Bun-Nyuh, Yang had flipped the "open/ closed" sign on the front door and lit every candle in the shop's possession. Over twenty different aromas filled the air, making a thick and overwhelming, near dizzying sent. Numerous different shapes and colours of candles adorned the gaps of the shop's shelves and counter. At the centre of the shop floor, Bun-Nyuh sat on a lone standing chair next to a small end table. Impatience riddled her face as she waited for Yang. She held the smooth silver scissors in her hands, and twisted them between her fingers, as her worries encroached in on her mind like a rising flood.
What the hell was she going to do tomorrow; with no money and no electricity? What the hell was she going to do? Stress began to weigh heavily on her already perfume fogged brain. Dropping the scissors to her lap, Bun-Nyuh bowed her head forward and covered her face with her hands. Her brain was so tense, it almost felt like an overly fat knot wedged within her scull. What could she do…? What could she do…?
She felt a presence next to her as she heard something being placed on the side table next to her. Revealing her face once more, Bun-Nyuh saw that Yang had set two bowls and a Victorian style hairbrush on the surface. One of the small wooden bowls was empty, whilst the other had been filled with water and a comb.
"Things will be better soon." He reassured her, taking the hairbrush in his hands.
Straightening her back, she looked at the strange man. Most of the time, Yang looked very out of place within the shop. The white tiles and harsh bright lights seemed to single him out, and set him apart from the rest of the shop. Now, steeped in shadow, amongst the antiques, he looked more natural. For a moment Bun-Nyuh thought it unusual for someone so kind to look so at home in the darkness. She still did not think him to be a liar, but she did not believe him either.
"You don't know that." she replied glumly. "Everything's turning to crap all around me. I can feel it…"
"Dying." Yang finished for her. He stood looming behind her with sympathy swimming in his eyes.
"Yeah," she agreed wearily. Not looking at him, she began to rub one of the redwood beads on her grandmother's necklace. "Everything; I can feel it coming to an end."
Unwavering sadness flowed through her words as a depression set into her spirit. She did not often get depressed and showed little empathy for those who did. She was well over due for a sad spell. In an almost tender motion, Yang reached his large hands around her head, and scooped her hair round to the nape of her neck. Bun-Nyuh did nothing in response, but continued to look sullen. Though silence, Yang stroked the brush through her day-worn hair.
"Something humans fail to grasp is that there is no death, only change." he spoke soothingly, his voice in tune with the silence rather than breaking it. "A continuous and unbroken circle, with no visible end. It is true that our nature does not change by will. It feels the same pain and loss we do as she reforms; but it does not die."
"It doesn't feel that way." she uttered honestly.
"You'll feel differently when spring comes." he assured her, the hope in his voice was almost glowing. "You may feel snowbound or trapped now, but when the season changes, things will be brighter. Your worries will simply evaporate, and you'll be able to breathe again."
He ran his talon-like fingernails down her now finely brushed hair, checking for knots; before he extended a hand to Bun-Nyuh.
She stared at his empty hand in terror, as a cold and unpleasant dread trickled down her spine. He was expecting her to hand over the scissors. Her stomach deflated in shame as her bones stiffened. Her hand clenched round the scissors. Near petrified, she could hear the antiques beginning to whisper to her. Some hissed, some jeered, and some timidly spoke:
"Cowardice…Cowardice…" "Such a young girl…" "Such an old woman…" "Poor thing…So scared…" "Be silent be still little lamb…" "Snip! Snip! Snip!"
"Silence." murmured Yang, with a tone quieter than a mouse's thoughts. The voices stopped, leaving the air hollow.
He held his hand patiently out towards a perplexed Bun-Nyuh. With stiff movements, she laid the scissors in his palm, before curling up into a ball, tight as a fist.
Behind her, Yang wetted the comb before slowly dragging it through her hair. Her sun kissed light hair was darkened and weighed flat by the water, as he combed it straight. As Bun-Nyuh heard the swish of opening scissors, she immediately closed her eyes, blacking out the room around her.
Trembling, she could hear the quick backwards purr of the scissors' snick, as its blades sliced through her hair. She could hear each individual strand of hair snap. The sound prickled through her skin like an electric current, as her tremorous bones pointlessly dithered and protested. Lurching forward from some strange reflex, Bun-Nyuh freed her hair from Yang's delicate grasp. Tears poured down her face and dampened her knees beneath her scrunched eyes. Deep inside her chest, her heart swelled to monstrous proportions and began to beat violently at its bone cage. The sound of her heart filled her temples and drowned out all other noises and thoughts. A constant and frightening beat. Beating, beating, beating.
"Miss Cho." came Yang's soft voice from the ever-lessening darkness. "Please, sit up for me."
"Stop! Just stop!" she half demanded, half begged, as she restrained herself from rocking back and forth. Regret resonated through her. Why the hell did she have to ask him to cut her hair? Why did she have bring this about?
Yang slid his cold hands over Bun-Nyuh's shoulders and gently pulled her out of her crouching position. Her head lolled back against the chair's back, as her hands remained flattened over her salty wet eyes. She did not want to look at him. She did not want to look at anything. Smiling, he wrapped his long fingers around her skinny wrists and easily removed her hands from her face. Open eyed, she gazed up at him. He leant over her with the most alluring of expressions, as his long hair spilt around her; caging her like the branches of a weeping willow tree. The sound of her stressed and thumping heart, still, refused to subside.
"I'm really very nearly done." he said with the slightest air of a laugh in the back of his voice; as if her irrational fear was somewhat endearing.
"This isn't funny." she moaned, with a near empty voice. She had no malice within her to add to her tone.
Sitting up as straight as she could muster, Bun-Nyuh felt Yang tug at, comb through and snip at the remainder of her hair. True, she was still shaking, and her uneasy breathing was by far the loudest thing in the room; but she did feel better somehow. It was nearly over. Although, her pulse was frighteningly forceful and her heart beat was even more overwhelming. Still, it was nearly over.
Bun-Nyuh's fringe was combed straight and heavy over her brow, before Yang made the final touches to her hair. The quick plucking last snips were mercifully short; like a sprinkling of a summer rain shower. Beneath her jaw, he caught the falling hairs in the empty wooden bowl. When he was done, he lay the scissors down on the side table, and collected the fallen stray hairs from the glistening floor, without a single word. Bun-Nyuh sat as still and silent as a taxidermy animal. He was done. It was done.
Then why was her heart still beating so fast? Like a little rat, her heart tittered with unsure and quick movements.
Yang knelt on the floor beneath her still seated form, and presented the full wooden bowl up to her. A pleasant and humble smile graced his lips, as he tilted his head to one side, waiting for Bun-Nyuh to say something. Her gaze was completely transfixed by his. Trapped, like a bee slowly drawing in honey. His deep deer-like eyes drew her in gradually, and eased her unsteady breathing. Her heartbeat gradually slowed, but lost none of its power. Soon, her body simply felt as if it were a shell encasing a thunderous drumbeat.
"May I do the honours?" he asked calmly.
"Of what?" she blinked back at him, the faintest of blushes seeping across her cheeks.
He swiftly rose up from the floor tossing his own ridiculously long hair over his shoulder: "Of giving your hair to the birds." he explained.
"Is that what you do?" she asked, an air of suspicion in her voice. Something about this seemed strange.
"No, not all year round." his expression fell slightly as he sensed her distrust. "But since we're approaching spring, the birds should be nesting soon-"
Bun-Nyuh yawned a very loud mistimed yawn: "Yeah, whatever. Do whatever you want."
Sighing at her blatant disinterest, Yang walked out into the palest and most crisp morning. He stood on the pavement with a statuesque presence, holding the bowl of Bun-Nyuh's hair aloft, as if it were an offering to the gods. Now curious, she followed him. As the previous warmth from the shop melted abruptly from her body, Bun-Nyuh felt the water in her still wet hair grow icy. What the hell was he doing?
"You can't seriously expect the birds to just come and get it from you." she said sceptically, keeping her distance from him, as her heart still thudded manically beneath her breast. Sometimes, she really did pity him. He sincerely believed in the stupidest of things.
As quickly as the words had left her mouth, four sand coloured Song Thrushes swooped down from nowhere and snapped up beak fulls of her hair. Their loud rippling chirps and songs filled the morning air with joyous music. Guilt for her previous doubt in Yang settled into Bun-Nyuh's stomach. However, he did not seem to mind her doubt in him at all. As a few more birds, one of which was a stunning ocean blue, swept down on him and gratefully collected their new bedding, he looked truly happy. The way they gravitated towards him, it reminded Bun-Nyuh of watching spring butterflies settle on fresh flowerbeds. He turned to look back at her, and silently gestured for her to take the bowl. She swiftly recoiled and shook her head. Looking disappointed, he turned back to the birds, most of whom had swarmed in on him.
It felt odd, watching the little pieces of her being carried away and taken to be used. Her hair would nest the next generation of birds; whose untimely songs would annoyingly wake her up, before dawn had even cracked. It was, almost spiritual. They where now perching on the rim of the empty wooden bowl, and demandingly pecking at its bare surface; some even snapped at Yang's own hair and attempted to pull it free from his head.
Before he could calmly and maturely shoo them himself, Bun-Nyuh beat them back with the respect of a spoiled child:
"How could you want even more of my hair? Dumb worm eating birds." she yelled. Yang could tell she was not angry; any one could. The fatigue lingering in her voice gave it away.
The songbirds fled screetching in protest, flapping their wings so fast they looked as if they were only bobbing torsos. The two of them watched their small forms disappear, swallowed by the light of the newborn morning sun. Silence shrouded them, as the agitated chirps faded away. Standing close at his side, Bun-Nyuh's heart was beginning to hurt. The small rodent sized muscle felt quite over worked. Maybe was getting sick or something. She turned to ask Yang for advice, but decided not to. She had asked too much of him today. She always asked too much of him. The lingering guilt in her belly told her that she would have to start treating him better, soon.
Noticing Bun-Nyuh's distant worried expresion, Yang turned to face her with a tender fondness lighting his eyes.
"This sad spell, like everything in this world, will pass."
Though Bun-Nyuh knew these words to be a cliché, when they were said by Yang the bore a certain sad honesty, that seemed to sooth the stress in her heart, as she watched the new born day arise.
A/N Hello there, thanks for reading my story ^_^ So, what did you think? The first few paragraphs of this have been I my notebook for an age, so it's been cluttering up my brain for a while. I fid my work is better after I've thought it over for a few weeks…
Please leave your unwanted hair trimming and pet fluff out for the birds, they do so appreciate it.