Characters: Tatsuki, Chizuru, Orihime
Summary: Another perspective on Tatsuki's hair.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Lost Shinigami Representative Badge arc
Timeline: During the time skip
Author's Note: I don't think it's a requirement to, when writing about Chizuru, factor in Chizuru's at time psychotic behavior towards Orihime, so I just write her as normal (read: calm) in this situation.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
"I hate it so much," Tatsuki grumbles, talking into her knees and squeezing her eyes tightly shut. Her whole body, the way it's tense and stiff, protests her indignation.
"What? Why?" Orihime is taken aback, and it shows. She honestly didn't know that Tatsuki even cared at all about things like the length of her hair. Instead, Orihime though Tatsuki wouldn't care if her hair was long or short.
Chizuru smiles saucily. "I don't see what you've got to complain about, Tatsuki. This is a good look for you."
"Shut up, Chizuru."
The three of them balance precariously on the bed in Tatsuki's bedroom, Chizuru trying not to fall off, slight wind hitting them from the open window, warm and bright in the watery way of spring. After a few days in which neither Orihime nor Chizuru heard anything from their friend at all, they finally forced their way through Tatsuki's bedroom door, much to her exasperated mother's relief.
Trying to be kind, Chizuru plucks up a lock of growing hair in her manicured hand only to have that hand brusquely swatted away by Tatsuki, who glares suspiciously at her; most girls do watch Chizuru's hands carefully. Chizuru huffs in slightly melodramatic offense. "Well…" Softening, she points out, "It doesn't look bad at all, Tatsuki."
Orihime nods brightly, her smile about the same wattage as the light bulb overhead. "No, it doesn't Tatsuki-chan. It's really pretty, actually."
Tatsuki glares sullenly and Chizuru snorts. "Somehow, I don't think that's going to help, Orihime-chan." She tilts her head and stares at Tatsuki, squinting speculatively at the locks of wavy hair, clinging close to her head and neck. "I had no idea your hair was so coarse," she murmurs. "Well, I've got some hairpins at home; you can always just wear your hair up once it gets long enough," she supplies helpfully.
Her face just sours further. "Forget it. I hate having anything in my hair, ever since one of those stupid girls in elementary school put gum in it."
Orihime and Chizuru share an exasperated glance over Tatsuki's head, irritated by their recalcitrant "patient". "You're not giving us a great deal of options to work with, Tatsuki-chan," Orihime tells her, brow furrowed. "Your mother won't let you cut it, and you won't let us put it up, so you're just going to have to wear it loose."
"But I hate it like this!" Tatsuki wails. "Do you have any idea how much more shampoo I've had to use lately?"
This time, it's Orihime who grimace. "Trust me, I know."
Chizuru rolls her eyes at Tatsuki's theatrics and shoots a significant glance at Orihime. She sighs gustily. "To think that the great and terrible Arisawa Tatsuki, who once placed second in a martial arts competition with a broken arm, falls to pieces over such a trivial matter as the length of her hair." She stretches her arms towards the ceiling in the manner of a suppliant. "O, how the mighty have fallen!"
"If you're coming to a point, make it." Tatsuki glares daggers at her, pure vitriol rising in her voice.
The bespectacled girl sticks her tongue out at Tatsuki then winks suggestively at Orihime, and waggles her eyebrows. "I've got makeup at home too you know. We could always put a little blush on those sun-burnt cheeks."
Orihime giggles, going along with her and nodding.
"No, Chizuru."
"Or some lipstick. Ruby red would be a nice shade to finish off the look, don't you think so, Orihime-chan?" Her voice becomes sing-song. "It's waterproof."
"No, Chizuru!"