I dig through the bag, pulling out a pair of underwear, jeans, a bra, and a maroon sweater. Taking a deep breath, I remove Kouga's clothes, missing their warmth immediately. The bra is a little large in the chest, but a quick adjustment of the straps solves the problem well enough. Once I gain some weight back, it'll fit. The sweater is perfect, cut to be on the larger side, but the jeans are too big. I go through the bag again, digging until I find a pair of black leggings, and quickly throw those on. Much better, I smirk, ignoring the way my joints stick out more than they should. You'll be normal again soon, I remind myself, closing my eyes. I take a deep breath before brushing my teeth and run a brush through my hair, frowning at the split ends around my hips, grown out bangs, and the rest of the damage. Biting my lip a little, I hesitantly open the door and walk out to find Kouga relaxing on the couch. I swallow passed the lump in my throat, hiding my hands in my new sweater sleeves.
"Um, Kouga?" He turns his head in my direction and gives me a quick once over.
"Everything okay?" I nod, looking at the tv where an American cartoon is playing.
"Yeah, great, uh, most everything fits so no need to return anything. I was just wondering if you had any scissors?" As I ask, I find my hands tugging at the ends of my hair, grimacing at the ratty feeling. I hear him getting up and keep my eyes trained on the floor. His footsteps lead back towards the bathroom and return shortly after.
"Want some help?" I look up at him in surprise to find him holding a proper pair of hair cutting scissors. "I don't trust the people in town," he explains, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've cut my own and some of the pack's for years, I won't mess up or anything."
"I don't want to bother you." He chuckles, pulling a chair over from the kitchen.
"No bother at all." He gestures for me to sit and, with slow steps, I make my way over. "How much you want off?" I pick up the damaged hair, staring at it for a minute, a flood of memories rushing me. How many times has Naraku used this to hold me down? Or pull me back? The image of him holding me up by my hair with one hand while his other traveled elsewhere on my body forces a shudder through me. I take a deep breath, quickly dropping the offending locks, and screw my eyes shut.
"I want the damage gone." Kouga takes my hair in his hands, running gentle claws through it. After a moment, I hear him step away. I open my eyes to find him crouching down in front of me, his eyes shining with concern, a sad smile on his face.
"I think you should make the first cut," he suggests, "it'll help." His tone makes me think he knows from first hand experience, but I don't ask. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. Biting my lip, I take the scissors from him with shaky hands. "Don't worry about keeping it even, I can fix whatever happens." I feel the corner of my lip twitch up, briefly, before gathering my hair over my shoulder. As I stare at it, I feel my breathing quicken, anxiety tightening my chest. Kouga clears his throat, startling me out of my quick downward spiral, and I meet his gaze. "I'm right here," he reminds me. A small smile takes hold of my lips as I nod, taking a deep breath. I grip the hair right above the really split and damaged section, about six inches up, position the scissors, and watch it come away in my hand as I slice away the painful reminder. When I make it through to the other side, my hair in one hand, scissors in the other, the air rushes from my lungs and I'm unable to look away. My knuckles turn white under the pressure of my grip, every bad experience caused by this hair playing before my eyes like a bad movie. A gentle pressure on my hand refocuses my gaze and I find Kouga's large hand encompassing my own. My breathing slows down once more. "When you're ready, just let it go." I take several deep breaths before slowly releasing my fingers. I watch the severed hair fall to the floor, strand by strand, until my hand is empty. The weight on my chest eases and it's suddenly easier to take a breath. "How are you?" I look up, meet Kouga's eyes, and feel a small smile stretching across my lips.
"Better," I admit, voice quiet. He smiles, pride shining through his eyes.
"Glad to hear it. You wanna take a few more whacks at it?" My eyes immediately fall to the scissors in my right hand and I quickly shake my head, giving them back.
"I'd like to still have hair by the time it's over." He chuckles, standing up.
"Alright, I'll save as much as I can," he promises. Several minutes pass in comfortable silence as he straightens up the hack job I surely committed to my hair. "What's your favourite colour?" I feel a confused expression take over my features at his sudden, and random, question.
"What?"
"Well, I've known you a long time," he begins, sounding strangely nervous. "But we never really had a chance to get to know each other back then. I don't really know all that much about ya, honestly. I just thought, what with you staying here and all, now would be a good time." By the time he finishes, he sounds so unsure of himself, so unlike the Kouga I had been used to seeing when we were younger, I can't help the smile that finds its way to my lips and just barely suppress the, now foreign, urge to giggle.
"It's pink," I confess. "That's probably not terribly surprising."
"It fits you. Can you hold this?" He guides my hand to a section of hair piled on the top of my head. "You like books or tv better?" I bite my lip, trying to remember what I liked when I still had a life.
"I never really had time for either," I realise with a start, "I had to spend all my spare time on schoolwork to catch up when I wasn't in the feudal era."
"What about food?" He asks, trimming some of the layers I'd had years ago.
"I used to go to Wacdonalds all the time with my friends, but nothing beats my mom's homemade dinners."
"What kind of stuff would she make?"
"Everything." I smile at the memory. "There wasn't anything she couldn't make. I think my favourite would have to be her katsudon though. She had this way of knowing when one of us had had a bad day and always had it ready for dinner by the time we got home, and the textures of everything was always perfect. The eggs were fluffy, rice was never overcooked, the pork was perfectly breaded and fried, just absolute heaven in a bowl." I can practically feel myself drooling just thinking about it.
"Sounds like it's really something." I can hear the smile in his voice but don't turn to confirm, at risk of messing him up. "What about music?" He moves around to my side, grabbing a few strands from around my face, cutting some longer layers.
"How come you're not answering any of these?" He looks down at me, surprise quickly turning to confusion. "I know just as much about you as you do me, seems only fair." He chuckles again, shaking his head.
"Fair enough. Blue, books, and I'll never turn down a good cheeseburger. Your turn." He smirks down at me before going around to the other side to cut it to match.
"I liked a lot of pop before I went down the well," I admit, more than a little embarrassed. His smirk quickly widens to a grin.
"I knew it. I'm more of an alternative rock guy, I was in America for most of the '80s and '90s, so I blame them." I chuckle a bit, biting my lip.
"Where have you been?" I ask, before he can get his next question in. Something flashes in his eyes briefly before going back to focus on his work.
"Everywhere. I've had plenty of time to make it around the world a couple times. You ever make it out of Japan?" He lets go of my hair and I shake my head. "Shame, I know a few places you'd love. So, I've got a question," he begins, coming around to face me. "You had bangs before, they're pretty much gone now." I nod my head, unconsciously grabbing the grown out bangs. "Do you want them back? Or feeling like something new?" I bite my lip, thinking. Having them back would certainly make me look more like I had before… Naraku. But I'm not sure that's who I am anymore. Just looking like I used to wouldn't make me go back to that girl, it might just add pressure to become her again. Something new would be better, I realise, but what? I want something there, something I can hide behind if needed, but not the bangs I had before. Sensing my internal struggle, Kouga gently pushes my hair out of my face. "What are you thinking?"
"Umm," I mutter, "I want… something… just, not what I had before…" I trail off, unsure of what exactly it is that I want. Kouga smiles, softly, resting his hand on mine.
"Do you trust me?" Yes, the thought comes so suddenly it catches me off guard. Sure, I had stayed the night with him, eaten the food he had given me, even when I thought he was an illusion, but the whole time I've felt safe with him, something I haven't felt in years. I do trust him, completely. Slowly, I nod my head, forcing a smile to stretch across his lips. "Hold still," he orders, standing back up. I wait, with closed eyes, as he moves my hair this way and that before I hear scissors slicing through grown out locks. After a few minutes, he ruffles the front of my hair and steps back. "Wanna go see?" I nod my head again, making my way to the bathroom. I keep my eyes on the ground until I'm directly in front of the mirror. I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and look up. He had cut perfect, soft layers throughout my, once again, wavy hair. It now falls just below my bra strap and soft side bangs frame the right side of my face, delicate layers on either side of it. My eyes widen in shock as I run shaky hands through the now silky strands, tears burning the back of my throat. "What do you think?" I look over to find Kouga leaning against the wall in the hallway and feel a smile tugging at my lips. I throw my arms around his neck, feeling my tears soak his shirt, even as he pulls me closer.
"Thank you," I whisper, "thank you so much." He quickly returns the gesture, rubbing slow circles on my back.
"Happy to help." After a few moments, I pull away feeling lighter than I had in years. "That's a lot of excitement for one morning," he teases a bit, pulling the smallest of chuckles from me. "Think you could stomach something for lunch?" I nod my head, not necessarily feeling hungry but knowing it's a good idea. "Alright, I'll get you settled at the tv and then get cooking. Want more tea or you in the mood for something else?" I think about it for a moment before shrugging.
"Surprise me," I request. He seems surprised by my answer but quickly smiles.
"You got it." He shows me how to work the remote before returning to the kitchen area. I look at the cartoon he had had on before I came out, watching as a baby with a strangely shaped head shoots a laser gun sandwich at, what I assume to be, his mother.
"What's with that kid's head?" I ask, shocked when no one picks up on the fact that a baby just fired a gun at the table. Kouga laughs behind me.
"That's Stewie, he came out like that." I turn around to look at him in shock.
"Seriously?" He nods, stirring something in a pot on the stove. "And no one's concerned he just tried to kill his mom?"
"Nope, only the dog can understand him." I feel one of my eyebrows raise as I turn around to find the father, Peter, talking to a white dog.
"And the dog can talk?" I ask, a little incredulous. And I thought we had weird shows.
"Given the things you've seen, a cartoon has you this confused?"
"Touche." Kouga returns moments later with two bowls of chicken broth, some buttered toast, and a tall glass of orange juice. "Thank you." He nods his head, sipping at the broth, before smirking.
"I love this part." I look up to find Stewie using a grappling hook to reach the top cabinet and retrieve a blue and yellow gun. "Mind control gun," Kouga explains as the rope snaps, dropping the baby.
"You watch some weird stuff." He glances over at me, briefly, before returning his eyes to the television screen.
"We can change it if you want," he offers. No disappointment in his tone or any other indication he wants to keep it. He truly means whatever I want. I shake my head, taking a sip of the broth.
"No, it's fine, seems like it has potential to be funny. I'm sure your taste can't be that bad," I aim for teasing, trying to remember how. It seems to do the trick as he chuckles, shaking his head.
"I like to think it doesn't suck." We somehow end up spending the rest of the afternoon on that couch, snacking and watching Family Guy episodes. I even catch myself laughing during certain points in the shows. It almost feels… normal again.