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Minoth wasn’t sure when he’d last cut his hair. He almost always kept it in a high ponytail, held together by a thick band and an indecent amount of hair gel. However even he could accept that it was growing unmanageable.
He was alone in a public shower in the capital when he finally admitted to himself that something needed to be done, barely able to reach the end of his hair to wash it.
Minoth’s hair was special to him, as impractical as it sometimes felt. And accepting that something needed to be done did not mean he was desperate to do so.
“Addam, would you be able to cut my hair off? Up to here,” Minoth measured with his hand on his back. Addam tilted his head.
“I can try, but wouldn’t you prefer to see a proper stylist?” He shook his head adamantly, tucking his hands into his belt.
“I don’t need it to be perfect, have you seen the rest of me?”
Addam twisted his braid around his finger, a small frown forming on his face before his eyes lit up, almost sparkling. Oh no.
“Come on, you deserve it! It’ll make you feel like royalty.” Addam took Minoth’s hand and dragged him towards the shopping district before he could say otherwise. And who would he be, to knock the smile from Addam’s lovely face?
“I come to this place myself - and went all the time as a kid. The staff are lovely. I promise you’ll like it!” He grinned, tugging the taller man through the door before greeting a short woman with round glasses.
“Lord Origo! What can I do for you?” She smiled, shaking his hand.
“Ah, it’s actually for my dear Minoth here, needs a haircut!”
Minoth stepped forward, hands behind his back. The lady before him had kind eyes and a friendly smile, but his legs still shook. The irrational voice in the back of his brain screamed a warning, and he squinted his eyes shut for a few seconds. Her pleasantness felt almost deceptive.
“Come, take a seat,”
Minoth shook his head, mouth tightly shut.
Addam reached out and squeezed his hands.
“I know you keep telling me you don’t deserve nice things, but please let me treat you. Just this once.”
Minoth sighed.
He sat down on the chair, holding his hands to his chest. But the second he felt contact to his hair he lurched forwards, letting out a short, sharp noise. He jumped from the chair, eyes darting around, breath heavy. The stylist looked concerned, taking a few steps back from the flesh eater. He rubbed his eyes and grunted, his gaze darting around the room.
“Come, let’s go,” Addam held out his arm and Minoth grabbed onto it, quivering. He quietly apologised to the woman before pulling him back out the door.
As Addam guided him into the street, through the crowds and to a bench, Minoth’s grip on his arm loosened, his breath slowing back down.
“Dear, please tell me.” Minoth almost wanted to be mad at him, for crossing a boundary that he’d never set. But that would be cruel. He had no fucking clue.
Minoth swallowed and stroked Addam’s palm with a gloved hand.
“I don’t like people touching me, but with you it’s… different. But…” he closed his eyes. Addam sighed, and Minoth wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. But there was no judgement in his voice.
“Oh, dear, why didn’t you tell me?” Addam pulled Minoth closed to his chest, taking him by surprise, “I’ll do your hair for you. Oh architect, I’m so sorry. If I’d have known…” He ran his fingers through Minoth’s hair, gently prying apart the tangles.
Five years prior
Minoth clutched his head in his hands, running his hands desperately through what was left.
He had loved leaving the praetorium to wander into Indol and let the children braid his hair for him. Refugees from other nations would excitedly tell him about their customs, tying pretty flowers into his hair and letting him in turn tell his own stories of travelling the world. From as early as he could remember he liked being around children - so much time surrounded by death had made him appreciate life ever more.
He’d begged - pleased to keep his hair, but it was getting in the way of what needed to be done. An Indoline man had taken a knife from the medical box and crudely cut as close to his head as possible, before calling for assistance to tie him to the seat as he lashed out.
All for the greater good of humanity, he thought, as a body was carted into the room. He’d closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, prayed.
Today
“They thought I would be fine, because blades don’t feel pain.” Minoth snorted through his tears, “you can imagine. They didn’t give a shit about me. Not what I felt, or how I hurt.”
Addam held him tighter.
“That’s why you didn’t like the hair salon,” Addam connected the pieces in his head, rocking him in his arms.
“You don’t need to apologise, by the way. I’ve been trying to get better, so I never tell anyone. But I can’t get it out of my head,” he breathed in hard, “it’s like my body isn’t mine. Like I was ripped from my skin and stitched back together,” Addam moved his hand to Minoth’s chest, touching his warm core crystal before running his hand to trace the scar from his surgery, the other man’s hand resting on top.
“We can work on that. After all of this is over, when Malos is gone and Amalthus leaves us alone.” Ever the optimist. “It’s not about.. trying to undo what happened. But Alrest is full of good people who won’t hurt you. You have to remember that.”
Minoth sighed.
“I won’t lie. I’m fucking terrified. About the future, about Malos. About Amalthus.” Minoth trailed off, moving his scarred hand to rest atop Addam’s, “What if he comes after me? If he wants me killed? He’s left me alone for two years, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe.”
“You have your own agency. And you’re surrounded by friends. And he’s got shinier toys.” Minoth chuckled.
“You know, I’m not sure if that makes me feel any better. But I like being around you. Even if the world’s ending.” Addam smiled and took his hand.