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Sayaka has always wondered about Kyoko's hair.
The sheer length of it is impressive alone, along with what seemingly little care Kyoko puts into maintaining it, Sayaka's pretty sure part of Kyoko's wish was to have the most beautiful hair in the world. It certainly is the nicest Sayaka has ever seen.
Of course, that's after a while of knowing her. Spending their first few interactions locked in battle was not conducive to studying the lushness of it, but Sayaka noticed after a while.
Now that Kyoko has been staying with her over the past few months, Sayaka has gotten more time to just sit and stare at her. Kyoko keeps making fun of her for it, how frequently she catches Sayaka lazily looking at her from a desk or the kitchen table. Sayaka doesn't care much, as long as she gets to keep doing it.
Kyoko grumbles from her spot on Sayaka's chest, turning onto her side to keep playing her game on her crusty old tablet. Sayaka's half convinced she found it on the side of the road years ago and has been using it ever since. It would explain the unimaginable amount of cracks on the screen.
"How are you even playing that?" Sayaka murmurs, looking up from her crossword. Yes, she knows it's an old people game, and yes, she knows she's cheating on it so it basically doesn't even count. She's been told that way too many times, it barely affects her anymore. Barely, as Kyoko insists. "And what are you doing?"
"Bullying kids on Roblox," Kyoko deadpans, seemingly incredibly comfortable using Sayaka as a pillow. How and why she's doing this at an ungodly hour like this is truly a mystery.
Sayaka loves their quiet time like this.
She can admit that they both bicker, a lot, and while that's fun from time to time, sometimes she just loves sitting in silence with the warm weight of a body against her own. Especially Kyoko. Primarily Kyoko. Okay, only Kyoko, but she doesn't have anything against Madoka. "And, pray tell, why are you doing this?"
Kyoko shrugs, tapping away at her shattered screen. "It's funny."
It's really not, but either way, Sayaka just sighs like she's powerless to stop her. She might not be, but she doesn't have the energy to do something like that at two AM on a Tuesday. Or Wednesday, she supposes. She doesn't have the energy to do anything, really, other than pull Kyoko closer against her and play her dumb game. She stares at the loose wisps of hair that that fall around Kyoko's face, slowly tucking them behind her ears and listening as Kyoko lets out a grumbled 'Thanks,' in response.
"Hey Kyoko." The girl on her chest perks her head up, listening attentively. Sayaka's noticed that she only does that when she uses her name. She's been trying to use it less, but sometimes she forgets. It's also a little funny how she calls to attention like a dog. "How do you get your hair to be like that?"
"Like what?" Kyoko's hands have moved from playing her game to tracing circles across Sayaka's skin. Sayaka much prefers it this way.
"I mean, I've never seen you brush it or wash it, or really take care of it in any way, and yet it still looks majestic all of the time. What's the deal with that?" Glancing away, Kyoko seems to stew on her answer for far too long. She looks nervous, too. Like telling her the trick to perfect hair is revealing national secrets.
"I mean, I brush it when I shower, but that's about it. Maybe it's these goated genes." Kyoko grins as she goes back to playing on her game, bullets of sweat rolling down her face like she just ran a marathon. Now, as the incredibly perceptive girlfriend she is, Sayaka realizes that something is wrong. Wow. Shocker. Someone call the news.
"Can I touch it—"
"No." The speed at which Kyoko responds to her is so surprising that Sayaka nearly jolts. She's never been that fast to shut her down, not even while they're arguing. Unfortunately, Sayaka has always been one to reach for the things she wants.
She tries to rake her fingers through Kyoko's hair, and instead meets resistance.
Too much resistance.
She tries to pull her hand through, and instead meets the greasiest, most matted length of hair she's ever felt in her entire life. It's so gross, she has to hold herself back from hurling. She's half convinced her hand is a biohazard. Kyoko yelps, likely at the fact that Sayaka essentially just pulled her entire scalp at once, before her eyes widen to saucers, glancing between Sayaka's face and hand.
"Okay, I can explain—"
"Kyoko, what the fuck." Sayaka holds her hand away from the rest of her body, feeling as if it's melting away from the sheer grossness of it.
"It's not my fault, okay?!" Oh please. Not having access to good hygiene supplies is one thing, but to the point of leaving your hair unwashed for years is an entirely different ordeal.
"You couldn't have cleaned your hair once over the course of, say, seven years?" Sayaka scoffs as Kyoko comes up with some sort of lame excuse.
"I didn't have the money for no fancy shampoo or conditioner! I was raised by a male preacher, I don't know the slightest thing about haircare!” Kyoko sits up, tossing her tablet to the side. So that’s how it got so cracked.
“That’s not an excuse! Go take a bath in a river and use soap or something!” She grips onto Kyoko’s shirt, dragging her over to her bathroom.
“Hey, what the— Let go of me!” Kyoko claws at the tangle of sheets with surprising strength, so much so that Sayaka has to put most of her body into dragging her away from the bed. It’s so eerily similar to dragging a cat to a bath that Sayaka’s almost surprised when Kyoko screams rather than mewls. “Sayaka stop!”
“Not until you wash that greasy ass mane!” She’d rather do it quickly too, considering her walls aren’t all that soundproof. Sayaka can already hear the lecture she’s going to get tomorrow for making so much noise at an unholy hour.
She shoves Kyoko into the bathroom, turning on the shower head and barely bothering to turn it to a not-scalding-hot temperature. Kyoko shrieks as she is nearly waterboarded—emphasis on nearly, Sayaka would never shove water down her throat—and she writhes around, trying to get away from the spray above her.
"Are you—" Kyoko chokes, pulling the shower head away from her. "Are you trying to kill me?!"
"I'm not, I'm trying to help you, which I'd be able to do if you'd just stay still—" It seems Kyoko is successful in her mission to get the nozzle away from her, as Sayaka is now soaked from head to toe. "Was that necessary?!" Sayaka scoffs, much to Kyoko's shock.
"Yes! I almost died ‘cause of your dumbass trick!" She clutches onto her chest, breathing heavily like she just ran a marathon. It was not that bad.
Turning off the water, Sayaka pulls up the stool next to her sink. This way, she can actually look Kyoko in the eyes when they talk. "Kyoko, you can't live like this."
"Uh, yeah I can," She replies stubbornly. Sayaka would have the gall to be annoyed if it weren't for the fact that she swoons for that stubbornness. Ugh. Kyoko would make fun of her if she knew how much power she has over her. She already does, honestly, but more than usual.
"No, you can't," Sayaka sighs, looking through the now sopping wet strands of hair clinging onto Kyoko's head. Her hair really is beautiful. Maybe not healthy, but it certainly is nice. "I know it's hard to ask for help sometimes. I know it can feel like you're losing your edge, or growing soft if you need others to help you with some things. But I want to help you, Kyoko," Sayaka's eyes flicker across Kyoko's face, seeing if anything she's saying is actually getting through to her. "Please let me help you."
After seemingly debating it for a while—and fiercely, judging by the resigned glint in her eyes—Kyoko relents with a sigh, sitting down in the tub and pulling Sayaka's stool closer to the edge. "Just—Just be quick, okay? I'd rather get this over with quickly."
Sayaka grins at her attempted nonchalance, bringing her head closer and pressing a kiss to her now less disgusting scalp. "I promise I'll be gentle."
"You better be!"
Honestly, Sayaka doesn't have the slightest hint of an idea of where to begin. She decides to work her way up rather than start at the roots, dropping a glob of detangling cream on her hands and rubbing it into the ends of Kyoko's hair. It's a little sad that she never got to use this for herself, but Kyoko currently takes priority.
It also doesn't help that Kyoko apparently has the longest hair known to man, possibly rivaling Rapunzel. It feels like Sayaka is working detangler into her hair for hours on end.
She hears a soft grunt when she makes it halfway, where the resistance starts to grow. Sayaka isn't afraid to admit that she's scared of facing the roots of Kyoko's hair. Who knows how long they've been like that? Kyoko's whine is a little louder the second time, as she curls in a little further into herself.
"Do you want me to go slower?" Sayaka murmurs, already doing so.
"No, no, it's fine! I'm fine! I've dealt with much worse than some—" She squeaks once again as Sayaka works through a particularly tangled knot. "Please," She whispers, almost like a silent prayer. Sayaka goes slower.
Once she's gone through the entirety of Kyoko's mangy ass mane—and a brand new bottle of good detangler (not that she needed it)—Sayaka pulls out the rest of her hair products, setting them next to Kyoko one by one.
"Ugh, we're not even done yet?" Kyoko groans, setting her wet head back on Sayaka's knees.
"Hey, you're the one who wanted to do this," Sayaka mutters, squeezing a glob of shampoo into her hand.
Kyoko looks at her like she just killed half her family. "I'm literally not," She deadpans in response.
"You had to have wanted it at least a little bit. Or else you wouldn't have let me start in the first place." Sayaka slowly massages shampoo into the roots of Kyoko's hair, careful to not tug on her already damaged scalp.
"Maybe it's just cause I like you, Miki." She looks a little silly, trying to act tough and cool with a foamy head, but Sayaka still listens to her.
"Can't it be both? I'd rather you take care of yourself because you want to, not because I'm telling you to." Sayaka picks up a longer piece of Kyoko's hair, twirling it between her fingers. "If it's that hard for you to take care of your hair, why don't you just chop it off? I think you'd look good with short hair."
Kyoko doesn't reply sharply like Sayaka thinks she will, nor does she nod surprisedly like she hopes she will. She just shakes her head, going back to staring at the yellowing tile.
She's being surprisingly complicit with this, only making small noises of complaint whenever Sayaka tugs too hard or accidentally scratches her scalp. Sayaka's half convinced this is the wrong Kyoko until she realizes that she's nearly fallen asleep, her head slumped forward as she snores quietly.
Sayaka thinks about taking a photo, but decides better of it. She'd rather keep this version of Kyoko all to herself. So what if she's supposed to be the selfless hero? She can be selfish about this.
“Kyoko,” Sayaka murmurs, snapping her girlfriend awake. “We’re done here. Come on.” She guides Kyoko to stand up, who looks strangely relieved at the news.
“Finally, that took forever!” She stretches her arms out like she did something, and tries to walk over to the door.
“And where are you going?” Sayaka pulls her back by the collar of her shirt, nearly toppling her over.
“The fuck was that for?! Back to bed, that’s what!” She’s set down on a stool in front of the mirror, dizzy as Sayaka holds a hairbrush and more detangler over her head.
“Stop being a wuss. It wasn’t that bad,” Sayaka sets her arms across Kyoko’s shoulders, ignoring the death glare being sent to her through the mirror. She’s surprised it hasn’t cracked.
“Yes. It was horrible. You’re sent from hell.” Giving her a fake pout, Sayaka pushes and tugs on Kyoko’s shoulders. This is a serious accusation to be receiving from someone like Kyoko of all people.
“Aw, really? And I thought we would be together forever. Angels like you don’t belong in hell,” Kyoko bats her hands away, scoffing. It doesn’t take away the slight pink tint to her cheeks. Sayaka stops before she gets one on her own—either from blushing too much, or getting smacked.
“Quit trying to butter me up before you torture me,” Kyoko deadpans, trying to snatch the brush out of Sayaka’s hands.
In turn, Sayaka spins it out of her reach. “It’s not torture if I know what I’m doing!” Okay she might not know what she’s doing, but it’s still not torture! “Watch and learn,” She pretends to spit on both her hands, rubbing them together like a mad scientist. Kyoko laughs at her. “What? What’s funny?”
“You’re such a weirdo, Sayapper.” That’s a new one.
“You’re a meanie. I am not a yapper!” Kyoko looks at her like she’s lying to her face.
“When was the last time we sat in a room together and you didn’t try to fill the silence?” She raises an eyebrow, like her quip has a point. Which it doesn’t!
“Uh, five minutes ago! Dummy!” Kyoko rolls her eyes, slumping in her seat. Sayaka might have horrible posture but she’ll never be this bad. “It’s not my fault you’re fun to talk to.”
“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you can’t shut up because I’m so awesome and cool.”
“I’m never giving you a compliment again.” It’s a lie, of course. Kyoko is far too caring for Sayaka to throw threats like that around. But despite their emptiness, Kyoko still grins like she’s affecting her, her canines poking out. Cute. “I’m gonna give you a countdown, okay?” With the look Kyoko has on her face right now, you’d think she was getting wisdom teeth surgery without anesthesia done in three minutes, not a brush pulled through her hair.
“What are you, Jigsaw?! Just get it over with already!” She braces for the first pass of it, and right as it makes contact with the roots of her hair, she screams like Sayaka has never seen before. She’s seen Kyoko fight monsters once calling themselves friends of hers, relive the worse moments of her life, fall into an endless pit of despair, and die again and again and again, but not once has she ever let out a screech of this level.
She drops the brush like it’s made of fire, her fight, flight, or freeze activating as she genuinely debates hiding somewhere else in her house and/or jumping out of the nearest window. “Kyoko, what the fuck!”
“Shit! Ow—ow—ow—fuck—ugh!” Kyoko reaches up to soothe where her entire head was pulled from the scalp, whining and making sounds of pain. “Did you have to pull that hard?!” She cries out, genuine tears coming to her eyes. It’s now that Sayaka realizes that through all of the hardships they’ve faced, between death and fates much worse than it, not once has she actually seen Kyoko cry.
Sayaka hates how helpless she feels, her hands still practically chained to her sides out of fear of instigating another feral scream from Kyoko’s lungs. She doesn’t reach out to comfort her, or crack a joke like she usually would. She just watches.
After helplessly staring at each other for what honestly feels like eternity all over again, Sayaka finally murmurs under her breath, “Are you… good?”
“You didn’t have to yank my chain, bro!” Why is she speaking like a gangster from America? Did her hair getting pulled that hard alter her brain chemistry?
“You have the highest pain tolerance out of everyone in our quintet. It was not that bad. Also quit talking like that!” She’d usually smack the side of Kyoko’s head after that, but she’s a little afraid of what her reaction will be. She doesn’t know what Kyoko is capable of now.
“I’ll talk however I want,” Kyoko spits, crossing her arms. As tough as she may act, Sayaka can still see how her hands shake against her biceps, not looking up at her out of fear of Sayaka seeing her tears.
Sayaka reaches down to pick the brush back up, approaching Kyoko like a wild animal. “I’m gonna try that again—“
“Again?!”
“But I’ll be more careful this time. I promise.” The scowl remains on Kyoko’s face, but she turns back to the mirror, anxiously tapping her foot.
“You’re so annoying.” Sayaka makes the decision to ignore that comment and instead brings the brush to the bottom of Kyoko’s long hair, swiping at the bottom in quick, light movements. Still, even with how careful she’s being, it sounds like someone is being murdered with the shrillness and volume of the screams that emanate from Kyoko’s chest.
With every pass of the brush, Sayaka is forced to channel Madoka’s kind spirit and forgiveness, Homura’s impossible determination and unbelievable patience, and Mami’s calmness and hyper-focus. She realizes that all three of them are far more suited for this than she is.
It takes far too long than it should. Sayaka can see the sun start to peek over the horizon when she finally finishes, surprisingly being able to hear the birds chirp. Huh. She thought Kyoko’s screams had made her go deaf.
God, she’s so tired. She lets her arms go limp by her side, leaning forward against Kyoko’s slumped form. Really? She’s been hard at work here and Kyoko had the audacity to fall asleep?! Especially after all she was complaining… she’s so rude.
She does look peaceful though, so Sayaka relents and drags her back to her bedroom, collapsing onto the mattress like she just returned from war. Her arms hurt so bad, ugh. She watches as Kyoko snores (very loudly mind you) into the pillow, eyes slightly puffy and face sticky. Who would’ve thought that a shower head and a comb would do this to her rather than a witch?
Sayaka’s hand lingers near her face, running through the shorter hair by her temple. It passes through without issue, and she realizes that she was right to idolize that hair as much as she did. Sure, it took five hours of work, but she can’t wait to see Kyoko’s reaction to it in the morning. It makes it at least a little worth it.
•—————————•
Kyoko’s eyes open when Sayaka’s close.
When did she fall asleep? Whatever, the torture is over anyway. She reaches up to pull Sayaka’s hand away from her temple and to a more comfortable position. It’s not like it matters much, considering Sayaka will move back in her sleep anyway. Kyoko will never admit it, but she adores how much Sayaka seeks touch in her sleep. It’s something she’d never admit fully awake, too afraid of being teased. Kyoko will keep that to herself, though.
She tugs at her wrist, feeling fingers run through her hair as she—
Run through?!
Fully through? Without any tangles?!
Kyoko shoots up—making sure not to disturb Sayaka who seems to be in some state between asleep and awake—and runs back to the bathroom, nearly stumbling on a stool as she looks at her hair in the mirror. It’s smooth, and silky, and actually feels that way rather than like a weighted rope attached to her head. “Oh my god. I—I’ve never—“
Her hair hasn’t been this clean and smooth since before she made her wish. A while. Too long to count, honestly.
She runs back to jump on top of Sayaka, hugging her close and muttering her thanks over and over again as she grips onto her pajamas. Sayaka stays quiet, letting the moment breathe. Like an addict, Kyoko runs her hands through her hair over and over and over again. She can’t remember the last time her hair was this soft. If she tries to, all she can remember is the ache in her chest where the man she once trusted with her life used to stand.
“You know Sayaka, I want to tell you something.” Kyoko turns to her, watching as her chest rises and falls with each of her snores.
She wasn’t letting the moment breathe! She’s just dead asleep! How didn’t jumping on top of her wake her up?!
Kyoko scoffs, tucking Sayaka under the covers begrudgingly. She looks exhausted. Understandable for someone who just had to deal with several hours of Kyoko’s blood-curdling screeching. Even after all of that pain, though, Kyoko could not be more grateful to her. Sayaka’s stubbornness is annoying. It always has been. From when they were enemies to now, she has always been so bull-headed. Her determination is absurd, and yet it has done so much for her.
She wonders what it would have been like if she had that determination so long ago. What if Sayaka had been there before all those nights she had been forced to go hungry? Would she have even needed to make a wish if she had someone to fight for her? If she had someone to fight for?
Kyoko shakes her head. There’s no use thinking about what-ifs and hypotheticals. She would have made her wish anyway. Kyoko was born to be a magical girl, and Sayaka was born to be a witch. The strings of fate have already been tied for them. It is too late to think of what could’ve been. She’d rather focus on the head on her lap than her once empty stomach.
Her mother had died when she was young. Kyoko never thought much about her. Glimpses of her show up in her memories, but they’re simply that. For all she knows, they’re figments of her imagination. Her father, on the other hand… her father seemed to have a fixation on her. Kyoko never understood why. Looking down at Sayaka, she does now.
It didn’t matter how much she hated taking care of her hair, or how much she wished she could just cut it, her father would never allow it. Your mother loved your hair so much. We must keep this little piece of her, He would whisper as he passed a brush through her hair every night.
And despite it sounding like a foolish request—seriously, she didn’t even know who this woman was—Kyoko complied. She complied even through the loneliness, through the anger. She complies now, even though her father is dead, and she has lived through things more horrifying than he thought could even exist. Because her hair is no longer her mother’s favorite. It’s her father’s as well.
Taking care of it got harder over the years. The streets are not a suitable place for long hair. They’re not suitable for young girls either, but one of those problems can be avoided. Still, her father’s chiding voice rang in her mind every time she thought about cutting it. Like his soul lived on in the strands.
Maybe her mother had a reason for loving her long hair. Maybe someone did the same for her as Sayaka did for Kyoko now. Maybe she wanted her to know the wonder of it.
Light fingers brush Sayaka’s bangs out of her face, far more gentle than Kyoko is when she’s awake. Sometimes she’s afraid that Sayaka pretends to be asleep just to feel it. How would she react, if she knew how much time Kyoko spends simply admiring how she looks when she doesn’t need to worry about witches or contracts or fighting? Would she feel the tinge of regret with which she holds her so softly, for not being able to hold her softly back when she needed?
Sayaka has never been the type to blame others for things that they can’t control. Only for the things they could have. It’s why she hated Kyoko then, and loves her now. But sometimes Kyoko wonders what would have happened if she had simply moved to Mitakihara earlier. If she had abandoned Kazamino when everything she knew had abandoned her as—
Sayaka’s loud, blaring alarm cuts off her thoughts, far too inappropriate to be on at such an hour. She had set it yesterday with the wistful hope that it would help fix their currently rotten sleep schedule, but they can do that next week.
She rolls over in Kyoko’s lap, groaning and covering her ears. “Turn it off…” She whines, covering herself with the heavy blanket.
It’s a reasonable request, considering… the contents of the alarm. Sayaka is a weirdo, so instead of setting it to a regular alarm sound, she thought it would be funny to set it to a recording she took of Madoka cursing her out last time she was on her period.
Her screams in it nearly rival Kyoko’s earlier while she was getting her hair detangled. “Sayaka! Turn that shit off you fucking bitch! I knew I shouldn’t have ever trusted a dumbass like you to take care of me! All you do is think about yourself and how you can get in someone’s pants you backstabbing, two-faced, conniving hoe!” Where is that damn phone, this is starting to hurt Kyoko’s ears. “I swear, maybe there was a reason Kyosuke ditched your ass for Hitomi, at least maybe she was more bearable to be around instead of a selfish asshole like you! Or maybe you just have a thing for homophobic guys who call you out for being a—“
Oop, there it is. Kyoko turns off the alarm before it reaches the truly gruesome part. Sure, it was funny at the time, but looking back on it, Madoka would never say anything even close to that line of thinking, either because she’s too kind, a doormat, or prefers to talk things out without slurs and cuss words. Still, funny how she could switch up that fast.
Sayaka groans, curling around one of her pillows. “You know, you’re the one who set it in the first place. I told you it wasn’t going to work—“ Kyoko fires back before a pillow is thrown at her head, and she almost falls over from how unexpected it is.
“Shut up and come to bed. I’m cold.” She’s selfish. But Kyoko has always encouraged that for her. It’s probably from how much she spoils her.
She doesn’t even understand what Sayaka’s complaining about, since the sheets are warm when she crawls beneath them, but she still tugs her close. It takes even less time before her breathing steadies once more, one of Kyoko’s hands held against her sternum. She watches as Sayaka’s hands cherish her own, and a burst of affection blooms in her chest, far more difficult to stop than she expects it to be.
It takes a second for Kyoko to realize that the coolness against her cheeks is tears. They feel a little late, if not a little excessive. Four years on the street and getting her hair done turns her into a mess? What happened to her?
“Sayaka,” Kyoko sing-songs, tapping at Sayaka’s cheek. Sayaka turns around, still holding steady to her hand. “Sayaka!”
She very reluctantly turns back to face Kyoko, eyes still half-lidded. “What? You get a nice new mane of hair and think you can just order me around?”
She’s so dramatic. “Could you—“ Kyoko realizes the severity of the request before she realizes its weight. It’s a difficult thing to ask of someone, especially considering how important it is. But Sayaka is gentle, and accepting, and any help is better than whatever she was doing before, right? “Could you help me do my hair all the time?”
“Help is a way of putting it,” She quips, and Kyoko pushes her away. “And of course. It’s pretty fun when you’re not kicking and screaming at me. We could make it like… a weekly thing. For us.”
Kyoko can see the small glimmer of what looks like hope in Sayaka’s eyes.
It’s so familiar she nearly flinches. She’s seen that kind of hope before. The kind, innocent one. The one where it doesn’t matter whether or not your beliefs are helping yourself, but as long as you’re helping others it’s worth it. The sacrificial kind. She saw it in her father’s eyes before every sermon, after every trip to the grocery store with less and less food. She saw it in Sayaka’s own eyes, trying to act so revolutionary and just, only to lose her mind once her perfect vision faltered the slightest bit.
She hates it. She hates that kind of blind hope, the kind that only gets you hurt. The all-consuming kind.
Kyoko never hated her father. He was an insane man who wanted to help his family. That is the end of his story. He tried to help others and ended up backfiring on himself so bad the recoil killed Kyoko’s sister as well. He was a kind soul who went too far off the deep end. She loved him for doing that.
Kyoko hated Sayaka once. Someone so self-sacrificial she couldn’t even save anyone. All she did was put the people around her in danger. She wanted to help so bad it became what led her to the deepest pool of despair possible for someone like her. She hated it. The worthlessness, the denial of help. She’d seen it all before.
Sayaka is like Kyoko’s father in all the ways she hated.
Sayaka is like Kyoko’s father in all the ways she loves.
But even if that were so crystal clear, it’s not the full story. Sayaka is far more than what that man ever was. He was never cruel, but he was never right with them either. He was willing to sacrifice their meals for his teachings. Sayaka would never put someone she loves so blatantly in danger if it contradicts the very beliefs she fights for. Kyoko loves her more than she loved her father, because Sayaka’s ideology extends to her. Kyoko is not an exception to her beliefs. She is an addition to them.
“Sayaka?”
“What?!” She complains, tossing an arm around Kyoko’s waist before turning back around. She’s like a worm that can’t stop moving. Ridiculous.
“Could you help me with something? Tomorrow? I have an idea I want to try.” Sayaka rolls her eyes like it’s a stupid question.
“Yes. Now go to sleep.”
•—————————•
Kyoko stares at the blue section of her hair in the mirror. It’s not exactly the right shade—Sayaka’s hair is far too light for that, and Kyoko’s hair has been through enough—but it’s close enough to what she’s going for. It feels a little strange, but not wrong.
Sayaka steps out of the bathroom, tugging on the red part of her bangs. “This is unfair, now every time I wash my hair it’s going to look like a crime scene.” She complains like she didn’t help throughout Kyoko’s whole process, and she didn’t offer to do it on herself a few minutes later.
“Suck it up, loser.” She gets a glare in response, and she suddenly feels the uncontrollable urge to run away. It’s a correct instinct, considering she’s tackled onto the bed mere seconds after the thought crosses her mind, giggling as they wrestle on the still unmade bed sheets.
After they finally run out of breath—which is a very long time—they lie side by side next to each other, laughing occasionally. Kyoko reaches out to grab the section of Sayaka’s hair, feeling it between her fingers. It’s obviously not permanent, they’ll have to maintain it over months on end. The thought that she’s affected Sayaka enough to have a section of her hair dedicated to Kyoko is far sweeter than it should be, anyway.
Sayaka still doesn’t know just how much Kyoko’s hair means to her. She might never know. A section of Kyoko’s hair is dyed blue anyway.
Just for her.