Yuri Himemiya and his hair

by hrewannabe

Yuri Himemiya hates his hair and he has a reason, that reason is called vitiligo. (oneshot, a tad bit of self hate)

Yuri Himemiya doesn't exactly dye his hair, nor does he like his hair. In fact he hate's his hair like nothing else. He hate's his hair more then he hates losing a stride match, then bad grades, then being slow or a bad connection. His hair isn't a fashion statement, it's not done for popularity. Himemiya doesn't think it makes him look cool, and he doesn't like it when classmates think his parent are cool cause they let him 'bleach' his hair before high school, because it's not bleached. Yuri Himemiya does not bleach his hair. He doesn't not bleach his hair and he does not like it. It started when he was eight, maybe even before that and he just doesn't remember, but he does remember that it was summer when everything came to a point.

When his hair started losing its dark color at the age of eight his parents took him to the doctor. He remembers it like it was yesterday, a room and then a house full of hushed whispers. He remembers the bite of the cold examination table, the way his mother had dressed that morning and his fathers coffee. Himemiya knows he won't forget the questions and answers and the way he shoved his little hands between his knees and worried at his lip not daring to look his parents asked if it could be fixed, what it was, why it was happening. Himemiya left the doctors office that day knowing in a child's way that it wasn't going to go away but until that point it hadn't mattered till his parents had dragged him to the doctor and told him to be quiet. To sit and be still, to not worry that they would know what was wrong, why their little boy was going white before his time.

"Vitiligo" is what the doctor called it. He explained in too big words talking about pigments and melanocytes, populations and percentages. Words that a ten year old didn't understand but drew his parents into a fearful furry. That caused his mother to grab onto his father and his own heart to fasten only from their reactions. Now Himemiya knows what Vitiligo is, knows the information like the back of his hand, like his favorite stride course. He knows that it affects at least two percent of the population, he knows what pigments are and melanocytes. He knows the spread of it is unpredictable; he watched it take strand after strand of black hair and spit it back white after all. He knows what it can look like he spent hours staring at pictures on the internet the last year of junior high, and he's spent almost a life time staring at himself in the mirror. Running his fingers through black hair and twisting the white blonde strands on the other side, carefully parting his hair to hide the fact it's not evenly spread because vitiligo isn't like that. Himemiya knows it's spreading can see it every time he take's a shower and changes clothes, the slow spread that's happening that it's no longer just his hair but his skin, and he fears the day it appears somewhere on his skin where he can't hide it with clothes or distance or laugh and say it's a scar and that he's knows that it's going to be a life time of it, that he cant run away from vitiligo like he can from runners on a course. He knows that even trying to treat it, will only lessen the edges and make the transition of color smoother.

It's his secret. Vitiligo is, and yet it's not just his, it's his parent's secret, and the doctor's and the other 2 percent of the world that have the same problem. When it started to show when he was eight and after the doctors visit, his parent's dyed his hair black before school started. His parents were happy, he looked normal if they kept his hair dyed, but Himemiya didn't feel normal, knew he wasn't normal, at least not anymore. He wanted to run away from his problems, away from the fact that somewhere inside of him he was wrong, that he was malfunctioning on an intimate bodily level. Then his roots would start to show that pale white and the other kids would ask, and his teachers did too. By the time Himemiya reached junior high he had stopped dyeing his hair. It was too much of a hassle and it felt worse having to redye it all the time then just staring at it in the mirror.

In a way it was his own punishment, one he chose for himself. Staring in the mirror everyday at what made him different, what made him less. it didn't matter that people didn't know, or that they didn't connect the dots, or that people thought it looked cool if not a little bit weird; what mattered was that Himemiya himself disliked his hair and through it all he took the greatest care with it. If he couldn't have pigment, at least it could be soft and undamaged hair.

Before Stride there was running, and before running there was hiding, and before that nothing was wrong. But with the onset and beginning of vitiligo came the hiding, of not wanting to go any where that people might see him, which turned in to running away from problems which turned into actively running and pushing his body as far as it would go. And then one day he took a different path and then the next thing he knew he was on a stride team connecting with others,but not all the way not truly. Not with the secrets intertwined in his hair and placing marks on his body. High school hit and the first and second years on the team comment on his ability to keep his roots dyed, while the third years talk about practice and avoid the relationer. some of the third years know that something is up, know that there is no way he could keep his hair dyed like that so nicely and not have it damaged for bleach, but they don't say anything.

Sometimes Yuri Himemiya will catch himself in the mirror of the club room and stop. The first and second years whirl around him talking about any and everything, but he's suck still staring at his hair, his face, his body hating and wondering where the next patch will be. A third year will brush past only to stop and pat him on the back, tell him he looks nice, to ask about practice, or for help on a jump or relation. It's his teammates way of helping him the only way they know how, they don't want him to be melancholy they remember their first year and the hate they would catch crossing his face at every mirror and hand twisted in hair. They only want him to be happy, to run, and do his best no matter what he thinks is wrong. To the other third years he is theirs and perfect, they just wished they knew how to say it.

Still Yuri Himemiya hates his hair, but he's learning. After all, he has the rest of his life to live with it, to cope, and learn to love his hair.