A/N: read this cute little manga over break, thought it could use some love. not in chronological order, and spoilers, obviously. enjoy!
Title: Pixie Dust
Summary: The one with the Mussy-Head, that's the one you choose. –Narumi/Kiri
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1. inauspicious
A backward glance at the girl who walked by—she needs to layer her bob a little more. The teacher at the front of the classroom—he needs a good shave and a trim at the nape of his neck. The classmate hanging up her jacket at his left—softer brown hair would really bring out the tones in her eyes. Not naturally sociable, but a natural perfectionist, Narumi analyzed and studied each strand of hair on each head he came into contact with. He shifted it between his fingers, this way, that—look at the way the light catches it, here.
But they had no names.
Ochiai was the smooth-talker for Narumi's operation; he had the ready-smile and the hand-shake for the girls or boys they made-over. "Thank you for your modeling today, Higurashi-sempai," he nodded to their two o'clock appointment.
So that was her name, Narumi registered vaguely, turning back to his dummy head.
But, there's the girl with the Mussy-Head, and it sticks, somehow. She's standing in an open window, leaning on one elbow, both eyelids at half-mast. Calling him a moron, because he's just insulted her best friend.
"You're disrespectful for a first-year!" he calls after her.
"The hair at the right nape is longer than the left by five millimeters."
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2. trembling
Lame: she slapped the label on all things hairstyling, turned her head down and away. She cut her pigtails off, cropped her hair to a severe bob that still somehow looked soft and sweet. Before that year, she hadn't picked up scissors willingly in years.
Kiri didn't play princess when she was a little girl; she'd pretended to be the fairy godmother, and she was still the fairy godmother to many girls. The little one down the street with the round face that sported short curls easily; the classmate in the long beautiful braid; the boy with a narrow chin that needed masking—I will help you add a little magic.
She did not put herself on par with SP—what a bunch of show-offs, she scoffed.
But there's her sempai—what was his name again?—in the clubroom, sketching and cutting and measuring and styling for hours after school. She walked by three times one day, and each time he was still standing there, often with the same project.
You want to be the best, huh?
Her father didn't have to pay her to cut the forty pageboys that afternoon.
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3. challenger
Seeing her cut was strangely spiritual. Her hands flew over the hair, like it was God Himself with intimate knowledge of every hair and the perfect way to coax it into its finest shape and texture. Her expression did not change; she did not waver. Narumi just stood back and stared, unable to take it in; he was supposed to competing with this? Who was this nobody with God's Fingers and a perfect sharp bob, even and straight in every way?
The girl, Yorozuya, asked: "Am I pretty?"
The crowd roared back its adoration.
Another time, she was cutting at her house. He hadn't meant to peek or to pry, but she was sitting there humbly with a child at her knee, a pretty little girl with a wide smile and nonsense bubbling from her mouth. The girl called her Big Sister, and Mussy-Head's nimble fingers parted and combed and twisted her hair perfectly to cut mind-bogglingly accurate cuts.
How could you not want this? But she was sitting there, still. Docile, but lighted—as if the magic in her hands was from some inner peace.
Narumi was not naturally peaceful either. I'll defeat you, Mussy-Head.
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4. take care
His arm was bothering him. Kiri wasn't quite sure when she'd picked up on it, but the knowledge kind of made her want to sneeze or vomit or curl up in bed and never leave. Somewhere, between calling him Naru-Naru and his rants about her inferiority and his hives and Kei's laughing and the clatter of scissors on the floor, she'd noticed.
"Take the medicine," she'd told him, "it works really well."
How are you going to be the best if you can't use that arm?—for some reason, she really did want him to be better. Maybe not the best, because that was reserved for Seiji forever, but maybe second-best.
And then she was the one in pain. "Mussy-Head, you alright? You're sweating a lot."
She couldn't exactly remember finishing the competition, but then she was in a hospital bed, and there he was again, talking to himself like an idiot. He was still wearing the haircut she'd given him months before, had even improved upon it by an inch or so.
"I'm in love with you."
There it was, clumsily dropped into the room. He really was an idiot. Kiri couldn't help the smirk in her voice: "So that's it."
She sighed when he left the room, closed her eyes. She replayed it again and again in her head, laughing a little more each time, feeling lighter and lighter, till she could just float away.
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5. offering
It was no secret that Narumi was not okay with all of Mussy-Head's—ahem—male counterparts. Taro was no threat, but Ken was tall, handsome, and gentle like she was, not to mention Billy Iketani's talent that—ahem, may have been able to blow his own out of the water. Iori was a fool—and what was with Chisami's insistence upon Mussy-Head's princely qualities?!
And then, Kazuhiko. His best friend.
"I won't give in so easily," he'd said without breaking eye contact, and Narumi had to swallow, recognizing for once that Kazuhiko could make any girl happy. He was clear-headed, intelligent, a leader, good-looking in his polished way. And he knew the determination that Narumi himself trusted could take Kazuhiko anywhere. Maybe even to her heart.
"Like hell I'm just gonna leave her to you," he grinned.
And this was a kind of camaraderie too.
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6. stay
"Mussy-Head? You here?"
Eyes shut tight, body locked tight under the table, here is where Kiri has been staying. The power is out, Seiji is gone, Billy is gone. But the proud boy at school has come back for her. This was really the last scenario she could've imagined, him seeing her acting like a child in the middle of the night, but here he was, looking for her in the dark, the edge of worry grinding in his voice, and maybe crawling out won't be too hard.
She almost murmured, Narumi-sempai, but she had a feeling he definitely would've broken out into frantic hives. So she settled for clutching his shirt, hoping he'd get the message, because she never did this, she was never this vulnerable, she never needed anything, she always provided for herself!—
"It's okay, I'll be here until the light comes on."
His hand was gentle on her head, and for once, she was glad that she cut her own hair perfectly.
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7. security risk
Airports were the worst. Stinky, noisy, a mess. You never knew where to park. The food's awful. Though Narumi didn't have any appetite that day, sulking outside the entrance at the mess that became their last week or so together: accidental kisses, a challenge from Kazuhiko, his father, staying at her house, pneumonia, accidental confession, winning the competition, and now—now, finally at the apex of their accomplishments, just when he thought everything in the world had righted—
"I'm moving. Tomorrow." She kept those big eyes so calm, her voice so level. Are you ice? Are you steel? He wanted to hate her consistency, but he hated his helplessness more.
He heaved another sigh.
"You came to see me off."
There was a smile in her voice, and she was still wearing that damned cap, of all days. You won't at least let me look at your hair today, of all days? It was a final blow.
But everything changed in a second—he wasn't sure whether he had moved first, or she had, but suddenly they were tangled up in an awkward fold of arms and torsos, and his hand was trembling on her wrist—just, don't go.
But just another second, and she was away, her hair shaking free, the cap on his own head. "I'll be waiting in L.A.," she said, and she was glowing, still, again, as she always had, since she'd first called him a moron in the afternoon sun.
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8. Christmas card
"Kiri? Kiri, honey, you've got a Christmas card from Japan, and—spoiler alert!—it's from Naru-sie!"
Kiri rolled her eyes and headed for the kitchen. Already opened, lying on the counter, it was a picture of all her friends from high school and SP, smiling in Santa hats and holding flashy scissors. She noticed Ken was blushing and holding Kanako's hand, and that Kei was covered in powdered sugar. Iori and Chisami were not-so-subtly pinching each other's arms. Kazuhiko and Narumi were in the middle, flashing big smiles. Taro must have taken the picture; that was definitely his thumb at the edge of the photo.
"K-Kiri, honey, could you get the door?"
"The doorbell didn't ring, Mom."
"Yeah, but someone's here!"
All cinematic excellence was forfeited when Kei didn't wait for anyone to open the door, and instead bounded through dressed as Santa and bearing a (half-empty) bag of candy. Iori immediately went looking for her mother, shrieking love at the top of his lungs. Kanako, Ken, and Taro each hugged her cheerfully before coming inside. Kazuhiko flushed considerably as he removed his shoes, but managed a handsome, "Please take care of me," and "Merry Christmas, Koshiba-san."
Narumi was at the back of the line, loaded down with everyone's luggage, looking like an idiot and a pack-mule. "H-Hey, you idiots! Come get your crap!" he shouted, but everyone was laughing and talking inside, not paying a bit of attention.
For a moment, Kiri just stared, with her overly calm eyes. At the silence between them, Narumi finally had to meet her eyes, which immediately made his face fill up with color. He clumsily started, "M-merry Christmas, M-Mussy—"
But Kiri was already smiling, laughing, helping him tug in the luggage. "Naru-naru, your hair needs a trim, do you mind if I do it?"
If she'd asked to have sex with him on the living room floor in front of them all, his face couldn't have been more red or his expression more happy.
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fin.
A/N: Merry Christmas? this might be a little abrupt, sorry. Please review.