Lieutenant Ohtori Kensaku never thought he would find all the simple things—the autumn breeze, the rustling of leaves, and the ringing of a wind chime still hanging on out of their shared fondness for it—to be that pleasing. Nor did he ever think that he could, at times, just stare into the distance without complicated thoughts and with airy lightheadedness that made the passage of time largely irrelevant.
They had each other now. He had a clear view of her smiling tenderly and seemingly swaying along the wind with her eyes closed—and realized that was most likely the reason why; he knew it now. And he was grateful for it.
Shoukaku opened her eyes just in time to see Ohtori watching her. She liked the soft gaze and liked how they were for her only even more. She felt a certain warmth on the sides of her face—but not because she felt self-conscious; the sensation soon grew to envelop her entire being. She liked the feeling.
She also liked how he reached for her hair to pluck the errant maple leaves, those that did not fall into the now red-covered ground, and his hushed laugh when she reciprocated the gesture.
His hair had grown longer than when they first met again, long enough to frame his face. The somewhat regular washing did little to mend the scruffy look or keep the straying locks in place, and they felt wiry to the touch. Shoukaku was glad Ohtori didn't seem to mind her hands wandering about his hair, even down to his cheeks; on the contrary, he seemed too relaxed about it, enough that it was her who became flustered instead—and soon she stopped.
"Well, should I cut my hair?" With a small laugh at the reaction, Ohtori asked, and Shoukaku frowned.
"...If you want to? Why did you ask?"
"I just wanted to know what you think about it. I'd let them be if you don't think so."
Shoukaku smiled. She liked that, too—that he asked and valued her opinion. And she honestly thought it was about time he took better care of his looks.
"If you ask me, I think you do need a haircut."
Shoukaku had excused herself to find a pair of scissors. Ohtori had asked her to cut his hair for him, and when she hesitated, he told her not to worry because she would only need to cut them all off. Thinking about it now, she realized it was what she would have wanted after all.
She recalled there was one in one of the old drawers. She found it after a bit of searching. It was bigger than she remembered and felt somewhat unwieldy, but she could not find any other one and decided she should just be more careful. She also found a dented metal comb with a few missing teeth and brought them to the porch.
Ohtori was patient and sat still, an old sheet wrapped around him as a makeshift cape. He looked over his shoulder and nodded—seeing that he was ready, Shoukaku quickened her pace until she stood behind him. She drew breath to steel herself, brought the scissors to his hair, and cut off a tiny piece that fell into the cape.
It was a pleasant surprise for Shoukaku to see that Ohtori did not tremble or stiffen up when the cold metal touched his scalp—and she knew right away he had complete faith in her.
She cherished the warm feeling it brought within her.
Ohtori was quiet amid all the clinking and snipping. The scissors were sharp enough, given the ease with which his locks were falling like the leaves, but one look at them convinced him it wouldn't be easy to cut hair with them.
Still, he could feel her gentleness as her hands gingerly moved about. Shoukaku had taken great pains so that he wouldn't get hurt. He, too, cherished the warm feeling it brought within him.
Shoukaku eventually set the scissors aside, and Ohtori felt his head had become cooler now that only a thin layer of hair remained. The wood was littered with hair; some had been blown into the yard by the wind. He didn't know how he looked, but he would be alright with everything she did.
"This...you have a scar here. Did you know?"
Only now did Ohtori shudder when Shoukaku ran her dainty fingers across his now bare nape.
"Well...I did recall getting wounded on that part, but I didn't think the scar would stay," he replied.
"I see...it hurt, didn't it?" Shoukaku inquired. She believed it to be true, despite the indifferent answer.
"Shoukaku," Ohtori looked up to meet her gaze, "you suffered worse than I did...and I...that hurt me more than anything I have ever been through."
Shoukaku blinked. Ohtori's gaze had now grown despondent, and she found herself loathing it.
"It's alright... I'll be fine now..." She whispered as she caressed his face, and his eyes lit up again to her delight. Indeed she felt pain no more now—inside and outside, and seeing him becoming that happy from such a simple gesture was one of the reasons.
"...You will. I...I'll make sure of it. Because...this feeling I have for you...I don't want to lose it."
Shoukaku smiled and then laughed softly. Seeing Ohtori with that haircut reminded her of the old days. It was the haircut of a soldier. And like many soldiers, he'd often keep his feelings and emotions to himself, even if it pained him. She, too, was guilty of the same thing.
But he was no longer that soldier she once knew. He had let out his feelings freely. It was only right to do the same.
Everything after that happened in a blur—Shoukaku untying the sheet, then throwing it over his face—and before he knew it, Ohtori felt something pressed against his forehead, lingering a little. He knew what it was, even though it felt so new, so foreign—but so welcome.
"Sh-Shoukaku?" Ohtori tossed the sheet covering his face away when he felt the sensation ebbing to see Shoukaku with the smile he had not seen in a long time. Demure but playful. Only this time, no ribbing or teasing was coming his way.
Just her honest emotions.
"This feeling I have for you...I, too, don't want to lose it."
Laughing, Ohtori rose to his feet. He went up to her and returned the favor.
All is well with the world.