Fingers, scratching scratching picking scratching. Nails raking through his hair leaving raised, bloody welts in their wake. Like dragging your fingers through mud, digging, always digging. Get the dirt out, get it out get it out get it out. Blood spread over fingers, blood under nails blood blood blood. It was all over, everywhere, squeezed out of him, crushed out of him.
Skin, dead skin scraped away, living skin scraped open. It was sore and raw and his scalp was bleeding. Between his knuckles hair gathered, clenching, fisting, pull it out, pull it out, get it out.
Drawing his hand away slowly, hair decorated Tanaka's fingers, thin black standing out against the thick white of his hands.
"Hair stays the same when you revive," Satou stated conversationally, not looking up from the handheld console, thumbs tapping at a frenzied pace, "It returns to it's original state, even if hair was ripped out during death."
Burning. Burning in his cheeks, shame. Burning in his hands, get them away from his head. Burning in his head, bleeding bleeding burning bleeding. He could feel itching, itching lines he needed to scrape away, needed to pull it out pull it all out, pull everything out.
"Uh," Tanaka breathed. "Yeah."
"Yet, that hair you're yanking out," Tanaka's heart stuttered, he wished it'd just stop, "It doesn't grow back when you die."
Pull it out, scratch it, make it bleed, get it out, get it all out, bleed bleed bleed bleed.
"Try not to get hair on the carpet."
It wasn't a request.
"Uh-huh," Tanaka agreed, hands slinking back up to his scalp, knuckles still tangled with thin clumps of hair.
Pull it all out.