Human as you are
When you tell him you want to demat his hair, you're met with a scoff
"It'd have to be cut. All of it. Make me uglier than I already am" he snarls
You disagree, and sweetly push, reassure, promise
He rolls his eyes, fights, tries to intimidate
Mumbles a sarcastic "only if you're naked, too"
He hopes it shuts you up. Embarrasses. Deflects your horrible insistence
To his shock, terror, you agree.
You sit behind him, nude in water a little too warm for your liking, muscles undoubtedly to cramp in the small space of a tub not meant for two people, but that's okay
It's claustrophobic, suffocating
But that's okay, too, because he's letting you close to him
Letting himself be vulnerable
An honor even his sister rarely sees, you're aware, even if he's mostly hidden himself from you by the ridiculous amount of soap bubbles that surround your bodies like snowfall
Even if he refuses to let his weary eyes meet yours
Gentle hands soak his gnarled, broken strands with conditioner and detanglers
He flinches under your touch
Your touch, which has never hurt him, would never, could never
But the world has, the world will, the world takes wicked joy in it, and that is enough to justify the tenseness of his shoulders and the bobbing of his throat as he swallows, forcing himself to still
To trust his judgement
To trust you
You pretend not to notice, preserve his pride, devour your own
He swears it burns where your flesh touches his, wonders if you think him as diseased as everyone else does, wonders if you even care
Wonders if Daki allowed you this time away from scrubbing floors to spoil her dear brother
Wonders how you stand the stench, human as you are, of the blood and gore and the decomposing filth that may as well take up as much of his head as his dark locks do
A bladed comb cuts through the worst of it, straightening the rest as much as his hair allows
He watches your reflection in the water, watches your tongue poke through your lips as you concentrate on a particularly stubborn mat, watches you smile as you massage the falling suds into the spots on his shoulders- not to erase but to soothe
You would never hurt him
You work long, and pull so many unsavable chunks from his head he fears you really might cut him bald
You work hard, and resist the urge to playfully squish the inky dots below the corners of his mouth
There's no pain in your work, not enough for an Oni of his strength to notice, but you apologize every time the brush catches his knots anyway
It's cute
You're cute, he thinks
Eventually, slowly, he allows himself to lean into you
Relaxes in the warmth surrounding him
He tells himself it's only so you don't have to stretch so far to reach him
Wouldn't want you to hurt your weak human arms
Ignores the inner voice that snickers with the knowledge that if he weren't so ugly, prideful, scared, he may have even allowed himself to smile
And when you leave, finally, to let him to wash his lower half without the threat of you, and he's left to sit in cooling water, eyes wide in the confusion that someone dares to care for him in such a way, like he's not disgusting, like he's not a monster, like he's a person, he pretends the tears threatening to fall is just the water left from his hair.
