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It wasn’t like you could see it.
Not at first glance, you’d have to look, really search for it. Pull the hair back a little to expose the border. Compare it, scrutinize it with the other side. But oh, it was there.
The beginnings of a slight recede in the shape of an M.
Ilya Rozanov rubbed the spot on his hair line where he had been hysterically tugging and examining his newly discovered loss of hair follicles.
“Ilya!” he heard distantly, the voice of his perfect husband Shane Hollander, shouting his name from the kitchen downstairs where he had been lovingly fixing dinner. Shane, with his long, glamorously luscious, dark flowing locks of hair, now in recent years, tied back into a low, messy, sexy bun.
Ilya snapped his head in the direction of their ensuite bathroom door and shouted back, “I’ll be down in a minute!” He looked at himself in the mirror, steeling his panic.
He had wondered when this day would come. Alexei had already been thinning up top severely the last time they had seen each other in Russia years ago. Karma, Ilya had hoped vindictively. Karma for all of the rude and mean and awful things Alexei had said and done and snorted.
His mother’s father had a healthy head of hair. His father’s father had a healthy head of hair. All but one of his uncles had a healthy head of hair.
Except his father turned bald as a cue-ball by age 40. What could Ilya have possibly done that karma had so mercilessly turned on him?
“Blyat,” Ilya whispered to his reflection.
———
Anya looked up at him with those giant moony eyes of hers.
Ilya pouted sadly, “Sorry, my beautiful princess, none for you,” in Russian as he pushed his plate further into the middle of the table. Anya sniffed around his ankles pitifully.
Since Shane had finally relinquished the most extreme version of his performance diet, he had become invested in learning every possible way of cooking chicken and rice. Today was Hainanese style and goddamn it if it wasn’t the most moist, soft, aromatic chicken Ilya had ever had. His face just didn’t show it.
“You look like Anya denied you the chicken. You okay?” Shane asked with one eye brow raised.
“Would you love me if I was a worm?” Ilya asked shyly.
“Oh my god, not this again. We’ve already talked about every possible variation of this scenario. As a human adult male, loving a worm would be weird and wrong. But if I was also a worm, of course I’d love…”
“Worms have no hair,” Ilya stated coldly.
“Of course they don’t. Why would a worm have hair?”
“What you are really saying is if you were also bald, you could love me bald? Is that it?” Ilya said roughly.
“What? What the hell are you talking about?”
“If you were a worm you could also love me, a hairless worm! But as an adult human male…”
“Are you losing your hair?” Shane interjected.
Ilya stuffed his mouth with a piece of chicken as his shoulders stiffened. He chewed slowly.
“Holy shit, Ilya you’re not going bald. You have more hair than me!” Shane huffed exasperatedly, the thick, shiny strands framing his face dancing over his freckles, his low bun dangling heavily against his neck.
Ilya gulped loudly then said, “Rogaine is poisonous to dogs.”
“You don’t need minoxidil,” Shane replied narrowly.
“Finasteride makes your dick soft,” Ilya lamented.
“Not for everyone,” Shane said rolling his eyes.
“Everyone will know what I did if we ever vacation in Türkiye,” Ilya cried.
“Jesus, Ilya, you don’t need a hair transplant yet!” Shane yelled. A moment of silence befell them.
“Yet?” Ilya asked horrified, his eyes glassy.
“Oh my god, you know what I mean!” Shane replied impatiently. He got up from the table and crouched over by his husband. “What the hell is going on?”
“The curse of Grigori Rozanov haunts me,” Ilya said sadly.
“And what curse would that be? Because you’re incredibly hot, kind, thoughtful, tall, and have a better memory than I do,” Shane replied, putting his hand gently on Ilya’s back.
Ilya slumped over and sunk his face into his hands. They sat like that for a minute, Shane continuing to softly pat Ilya’s back, Anya sniffing around the both of their feet, and Ilya cowering away because if he was a gross, bald worm, how could he ever face his dashing husband with his beautiful, glossy hair?
“Ilya,” Shane tried again.
Ilya sat back up a little straighter and pushed his hair back with one of his hands. With the other, he pointed to the right side of his forehead.
“Vot.” Here.
Shane took a long look at the space. “Ilya, this is ridiculous. You’re not balding,” he concluded.
“You do not see it? This curse?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Go get your glasses…”
“I don’t need my glasses. You aren’t balding,” Shane said sternly. He got up from the floor and kissed Ilya’s hairline.
“I need to take care of this before it gets worse,” Ilya said with a slight panic in his voice, “And you can’t pull it anymore when we fuck because…”
“Jesus, Ilya,” Shane sighed, looking at his husband softly.
“Jesus was not bald, probably…” Ilya pouted.
Shane smiled, “Shut up. You’re insane. Look.” Shane brushed his bangs up from his forehead, also tugging his hair line. He had the slightest lift on the left side of his forehead. “You see? I’m not bald. Just getting older. It can’t be helped. Does that mean you’ll stop loving me?”
Ilya looked at Shane, less traumatized and took a deep breath, “Of course not, lyubimyy.”
“Good, so back to my original answer, yes I’d love you if we were both worms. If I’m still a person and you’re a worm, I’ll just keep you in a little box and feed you leaves all day. But I’m not going to cross any human slash worm boundaries, okay? That’s against god and…”
Ilya grabbed Shane around the waist and held him close. Shane wrapped his arms around Ilya lovingly and kissed him on top of his thick mop of golden curls.
“Your hair is definitely stronger than mine. And remember, both my grandfathers were bald,” Shane joked.
“You would be handsome bald,” Ilya mumbled into Shane’s chest.
“I don’t really want to go bald. So maybe one day we’ll talk about taking that trip to Türkiye, but it’s not gonna be for a while yet,” Shane laughed.
“I am scared I will look like my father,” Ilya whispered. Shane let go of his husband to look at him. Ilya’s eyes were still glassy with a touch of terror hidden behind them, but Shane just smiled at him adoringly.
“You are your mother’s son, through and through,” Shane said reassuringly, kissing Ilya on the mouth. Ilya smiled at that.
“She probably could have pulled off being bald,” he chuckled wistfully.
“One hundred percent,” Shane agreed. He got up and sat back down at his seat.
They finished dinner in relative peace.
And after a particularly interesting time in bed roleplaying two worms in love, Ilya ordered a red light therapy device, a microdermal roller, a scalp massager, luxury hair oil, and a year’s supply of expensive hair vitamins, enough for two human adult males in love.