Quality Time
"Whatcha doing?"
Not the most incredulous of questions one could be asked by one's baby brother on a sunny June afternoon after said brother had wandered into your room without permission again.
You sigh, sending a bored glance at the babyish face peeking over the top of your room's desk table. How on earth he manages to find his way in here every time you want to be alone, you'll never know.
"What it looks like," you answer, putting down your coarse-furred hairbrush and picking a fine-toothed comb out of your neatly-arranged tray of hair, dare you use the word, stuff.
You'd been looking forward to this relaxation time all of yesterday, and had already spent most of the morning in the shower, washing dirt and twigs out of your beautiful black tresses. Really, after a week in the forest with no toilet paper even, your poor hair had been in a traumatized state. And now, sitting cross-legged on your bed, you'd been hoping for a bit of quiet alone time, but nooooo.
"Why ya do it?" he asks again, his big, black eyes on your hand as you run your good comb through a stubborn snarl.
"Because otherwise it'll get greasy and tangled," you answer, squinting at a lock held between your right thumb and forefinger. Gods above, is that a split end?! You reach immediately for your little sewing scissors, stolen from a never-used embroidery kit of your aunt's. A well-placed snip and the smooth, black hairs are perfectly even again.
"Looks funny without a tail," he says, grinning a stupid, yet cute little smile.
"I'll put it back up when I'm finished," you answer in slight annoyance, glancing at your little black hair tie sitting unused next to your assortment of combs. Unfortunately for you, your family's most recent offspring addition showed no interest for the same things you did. Or maybe it was a good thing, as otherwise you'd have to share bathroom time. Horrible thought indeed.
"…Fun?" he questions innocently, after a significant period of hesitation.
"Yes, it is fun," you answer proudly, combing your bangs away from your forehead. You'd have to make a note later for Mother to purchase more of that peach-scented conditioner. The smell was nothing short of heavenly after drying.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your sibling wander over to you, before turning to stare skeptically at your beloved stuff. The child was obviously wondering what was so great about these pieces of plastic, especially when there were kunai to be thrown at targets outside.
"I'll come out when I'm done," you say, cutting off his question before he can do more than open his little mouth. He, of course, proceeds to death-glare you before sitting down at the foot of your bed in a huff, crossing his arms in a display of I Shall Sit Here Until You Pay More Attention To Me Than Your Stupid Hair Et Cetera Et Cetera.
You sigh the sigh of an exasperated big brother, taking a good look at your sibling's unhappy expression. Come to think of it, his hair could use some work. It's none too neat, and does that funny thing where it sticks up in the back.
"Sasuke, come here."
He blinks his big eyes in surprise, but obeys. You pat your hand on an empty space beside you, and he quickly scrambles up next to you on your bed. All without disturbing your holy tray of stuff, because even at this early age he knows upsetting his big brother's stuff is a good guarantee for a one-way trip to the afterlife.
"Turn around and hold still," you order, calmly selecting one of your thicker brushes.
"But I don't wanna!" he whines, pulling back at the sight of you wielding your "sissy stuff."
"I'll come outside and play with you all day," you say, knowing this is one offer he won't refuse.
A grumble of acceptance, and he turns back around. Were you one of those emotional types, or maybe a female, you might've squealed in delight at having new template for your beautician genius.
"Don't do anything dumb-looking," warns your new guinea pig.
"Promise," you reply, holding him by the shoulder with one hand while your other gently begins brushing down the spikes at the rear of his head. Other than the central part of his bangs, like yours, the rest of his pitch-black hair runs away from his face and downwards. The seeming weightlessness of his back spikes are due, upon further investigation, to the thickness of his locks, with the lower layers supporting the topmost layers. If only he would realized how follicle-y blessed he was. Alas.
He doesn't take nearly as much care of his as you do yours. With a chosen comb held in your mouth, you use your free hand to help coax his choppy locks into shape while brushing with your other hand. Despite his earlier complaints, he is sitting rather quietly, enjoying himself but not wanting to admit it.
You hear footsteps approaching your closed room door, but pay no attention to them until-
"Itach…?"
The door opens and your father is standing there, whatever he had been about to say trailing off into silence as he stares at the two of you.
"Hi, Daddy!" Sasuke says happily as you continue combing his hair. "I'm playing with big brother!"
The door slams shut.
"…Aniki?"
"Mm-hm?" you reply, the comb back in your mouth.
"Why is Daddy crying outside the door?"
"I have no idea. He usually doesn't start sobbing until I get my barrettes out. Oh well."
Because otherwise, this would've been made into a comic and put on Deviantart.
And because it's impossible NOT to make fun of men with hair that's prettier than mine. DX.
Maybe i should do a Dei one like this...
P.S. i totally had to borrow my neighbor's book on hairdressing to write this. lolz.