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Kabru’s hands are gentle in Rin’s hair, steady. It feels good, the way he rubs circles into her scalp to work the shampoo in her hair, shivers down Rin’s spine in little golden sparks, spreading goosebumps all over her body while she flexes her hands.
It’s weird, because this actually started with her trying to get him to bathe after their latest dungeon trip was over, after they arrived at the surface, because god knows he can’t take care of himself and she’s tired of it, sometimes; but somehow, right now, it’s him who’s washing her hair. Humming under his breath, a song she doesn’t really recognize, but that tingles at the back of her skull anyway with something like nostalgia.
So much about Kabru is about nostalgia for her, isn’t it?
“You don’t need to do this,” she mumbles, staring into the drain of the sink she’s leaned over to avoid dripping too much water on her floor, one hand holding on white-knuckled to the edge of it, the other clutching at the towel wrapped around her body. It’s silly, anyway; once they get into her bathtub, she’ll have to get rid of it, and it’s not like being naked in his presence is something new, either, even when it’s been a long time since they were children. Rin doesn’t know why she agreed to this.
Ah, Kabru’d said, with a tilt to his head and a smile on his face that she could never decipher because it isn’t real, when she offered for him to use her bathroom—since he doesn’t have a bathtub himself—to bathe, only if you join me, Rin.
He’d been joking, of course. She knows that, she’s not stupid, and it’s exactly that, in a way, which made her agree. Stupid Kabru. Stupid Kabru, thinks he can always dance around her and she’ll always, always follow, thinks he can just do whatever he wants, thinks he can just say things because she’ll just scowl and flush and never retaliate, doesn’t he?
Well, tough luck, because this time, what she said was Okay, and it’d been worth it for the moment of his eyes widening before she’d turned around and stomped off, throwing her hair over her shoulder, telling him to follow her. She’d even snapped her fingers, and he did. He did follow her.
He did follow her.
It’d been worth it for that one second of triumph, but by now, doubt, and worse, shame creeps up on her. She’s in her bathroom filled with polished, lacquered wood (so it doesn’t swell and rot like her chest does when she’s near him, with the water and the humid air when it’s hot, hot, hot, boiling on her skin) with the metal pipes that run where she can’t see them, buried, buried, buried, and Kabru is behind her, washing her hair with gentle hands.
They used to bathe together, as children, sometimes. Very, very rarely, but Rin still remembers the feeling of his hands in her hair, still remembers how he’d put soap-foam on her nose with that big smile of his. Her grip on the edge of her sink tightens until her knuckles turn white.
“I know,” Kabru replies, finally, and it almost startles her; it takes her a moment to remember what she’d said. “But it’s been so long, hasn’t it?”
Makes bitterness rise in her throat like bile. She can’t stand him, sometimes. Sometimes, she can’t stand him.
(All of it has been so long. When was the last time he was honest to her? When was the last time he really looked at her? When was the last time he really smiled at her?
So, yes, they used to bathe together sometimes, but back then, Kabru would giggle and lean in and cup his mouth to whisper secrets into her ear and all he does now is smile a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and keep her at arm’s length.)
“Whatever,” Rin says, still staring into the drain—so pitch-black it might as well be a black hole, might as well be trying to suck her in, and maybe she’d go, maybe she would—so quietly she’s not sure if he can even hear her.
It doesn’t matter, anyway, because he doesn’t reply; because he gently nudges at the back of her head and she bows it down obediently and squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her lips to a tight line. The water he pours over her head to rinse off the shampoo is little more than lukewarm by now, but everything feels boiling. His fingers brush through her hair, gently separating the strands to make sure no soap stays there, brushing her skin seemingly by accident here and there—on her ear, the side of her neck, the back of her head, her shoulder—and everything feels boiling. Like this, with water in her ears, Rin feels like she’s floating in empty space, feels like everything is too much and too little and she hasn’t missed him this much in a long while.
Then the water parts like a curtain and Kabru tucks her hair behind her ear, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Is that it, or do you usually do more to your hair?”
She frowns into the sink, watching the shampoo foam disappear. Swallows, shivering at the feeling of water dripping down her arms. “It’s been a while since I got the chance to wash my hair, so I’d shampoo it again. Then conditioner. I apply hair oil once my hair is dry again, so that doesn’t matter right now.”
He hums like he understands any of those words, and she hates that she’s not quite sure if he does. He probably does, he’s different from other men, more attentive (for better and for worse), but with the way he takes care of himself…
Whatever. Whatever, it’s not like she’s his mother, or anything. It’s stupid she’s doing this in the first place.
This time when he puts his hand on Rin’s shoulder, she almost jumps. Refuses to look back at him, still. “The magic circle isn’t hot anymore, Rin.”
With a huffed breath she turns around after all, still holding her towel closed in front of her body, as ridiculous as it may be. As ridiculous as it is that she’s pushing past him without daring to look at him; it’s not like Kabru’s naked. He’s still wearing pants, at least.
Whatever.
The magic circle is a little left of the sink, drawn on top of the same sealed wood surface. She taps it with her index finger, infuses it with mana again, idly listening to how Kabru turns on the sink to fill one of her washbowls with water again. She doesn’t look at him either when she passes him on her way back—though she can feel his gaze on her—but she still glances at the ratty bandages wrapped around his chest. He never does listen when she tells him he needs to stop wearing those, that they’ll injure him.
Whatever.
It’s weird; the hairs on her back stand up when she can feel his presence behind him, even when he didn’t make a sound. He’s lathering his hands up with shampoo again, and there’s something clawing at Rin’s throat, and she’s just about to tell him she can wash her own damn hair—too little, too late—when his hands brush into her hair again.
“I’ll wash your hair after this,” it turns into instead, and her tone is too petulant for her liking. Her face burns as his fingertips rub circles into her scalp again, and this time, the soap foams up much easier.
Kabru laughs. “Despite what you might think, I’m indeed capable of washing my own hair.”
“Oh, and I’m not?” slips out of Rin before she can bite it back, and she kicks at his shin with her bare foot. He doesn’t budge, of course. She thinks there’s a bit of soap in her eyes, because they’re burning just a little.
“Come on, Rin,” he says, ever patient after a small pause, apologetic-placating like he always gets in moments like these. She hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
Of course it’s not, she knows that. She knows, and yet, sometimes, she wants to bite, bite, bite, anyway. She cares too much about all of this, she thinks. Wonders if he cares at all, at least sometimes. His fingers are in her hair and he’s humming under his breath again when she doesn’t respond, and he has to care, doesn’t he? He has to care a little. At least a little.
The water is warm again when Kabru rinses her hair off, so warm it makes her gasp, rushes through her like liquid gold. She tells him where the conditioner bar is—they’re in three different little shallow bowls, bodywash, shampoo and conditioner; usually unscented, but right now, the only ones she has left are jasmine, and when she told Kabru he’d smell like a girl, he just smiled—and he combs his fingers through her long hair to coat it evenly.
And that’s that. Rin stares into the sink for one last, longing look, huffing out a breath through her nose to steel herself, then she pushes herself off and turns around, putting her free hand on her hip. Motioning for the sink with her chin.
“Alright. Your turn.”
For a moment, he looks like he’ll argue—hair even curlier than it usually is from the humidity in the bathroom, skin dewy with it, and she can’t look at him too long like this, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t—so she drops her towel at last in one final gambit, and his head snaps to the side so fast it’s almost funny. His movements are almost a little jerky when he does walk over to the sink, framing it with both hands, leaning over it. Stupid, stupid, stupid Kabru. He was the one who suggested this, joke or not.
Maybe this will stop him from underestimating her in the future.
It’s her turn to lather her hands up with shampoo while he wets his hair with the water from the sink, and she glances at her bathtub for a moment, contemplating if she should just put a magic circle inside of it to speed things up later, but that’s probably a bad idea; it’d get too hot. So she’ll have to be naked longer, but whatever, whatever, whatever, with both of them cramped into the tub, they should need a lot less water than she usually does by herself, anyway.
Like this, standing behind him, stepping closer so she can reach him, she can only see his ducked head; the curls, his shoulders—a little tense, she thinks, but they’re both very tired, so it might just be that—and the line of his spine, jutting out at the nape of his neck just a little. The muscles under the skin of his back. The hairs on his arms, the scars on his back, igniting the urge inside of her to trace them with her fingers.
She doesn’t, of course.
No, instead Rin swallows before reaching out and brushing her hands into his hair. It’s cold to the touch; she doesn’t know why he used the perpetually cold water from the sink instead of the one they heated up specifically for this. Cold and coarse and greasy, and she’s sure she’ll have to shampoo it at least twice, as well. Maybe three times, who knows.
Kabru’s exhale is shaky as she starts rubbing the shampoo into his scalp, working it into the length of his hair just as he did, and she thinks it serves him right. Thinks she loves him, but she knows that already, and it’s pathetic, anyway. Thinks he really should take better care of his hair, or at least use the hair oil she got for him when she bought her own. Thinks he should take better care of himself in general, because he’s too skinny, and he’s going to get himself into serious trouble one of these days. Thinks she’d rather die than spend another day worrying about him, but she knows she’ll worry anyway, she always does.
They don’t talk while she’s washing his hair, but she can see his knuckles go pale where he’s gripping the edge of her sink, and all of this is stupid, anyway. Aren’t they friends? Best friends? Is that not what they are?
It still manages to be nice. Somehow, despite the melancholy hanging heavily in the air—and as always, Rin doesn’t know if that’s simply her being gloomy like she apparently tends to be or if he can feel it too—it still manages to be nice, a little. It’s been a while since she’s spent one-on-one time with him (mostly due to their dungeon trip, however), and even longer since they’ve managed to go without fighting (without her fighting, that is, and without him managing to provoke her with his teasing and that look in his eyes), and it’s… nice.
It is. Makes her remember she genuinely likes Kabru, even being in love with him aside; in a way she doesn’t often, these days, because he doesn’t slip off the mask when he’s alone with her, either. But right now, his knuckles are pale and his head is bowed and he’s not saying anything at all, and it feels nice to wash his hair like this, nice in a way she’d never admit out loud.
She can’t coddle him, or he’ll never learn, but just this once should be fine. By now, Kabru is taller than her, after all. Has been for a long time.
“There we go,” she says, quietly, voice unnatural in the humid silence of her bright-wood bathroom, when she steps back after having rinsed his hair off for the third time, and after working conditioner into it, too. It won’t do a miracle, but it’ll make things a little better.
Silently, Rin watches how he brushes his own hand into his hair, bicep flexing. For some reason, even though she’s behind him, she knows he’s frowning.
“It’s still greasy.”
Makes her roll her eyes as she goes to grab a bucket—which will take a little bit longer to heat up, but will be a lot faster in filling up the tub than her washbowls, which is why she usually uses it—shooing him away from the sink so she can fill it.
“It’s just the conditioner,” she explains, huffing in exertion as she puts the bucket on the magic circle. “We’ll wash it out after the bath.”
Kabru hums, suddenly next to her again, almost shoulder to shoulder, apparently waiting for the water to heat up, too, though she doesn’t know why he needs to hover for that. He’s warm next to her, radiating off him, not looking at her at all, but she still feels too-naked in her skin. It’s been so long. He was right, it’s been so damn long, and he’s just trying to be respectful, she knows that. Stupid Kabru.
“It smells good,” he says, voice low this close, and it kicks Rin’s heart into her throat for a moment. “You don’t usually smell like this.”
It takes another moment until she understands what he’s talking about; her face is burning and the steam is kind of getting to her, getting into her head, she thinks. Takes her so long that he’s quicker in grabbing the bucket once the water is hot enough, and she watches him walk out of her field of vision to empty it into the bathtub, returning to refill it.
“Ah,” slips out of her, and her hair is greasy from the conditioner between her fingers as she twirls at it. Slimy, almost. “I’m out of my usual soaps.”
It smells good, he said. It smells good, it smells good, it smells good. He didn’t even tell her she smells good—though she supposes it’s the very same thing, in the end—and her heart is still racing, her chest warm with the compliment. Stupid, stupid Kabru.
Makes her take a mental note to buy new soaps soon. Unscented, of course.
He’s humming again when he returns to her side, placing the bucket back on the magic circle with much more ease than she did. Stupid Kabru.
“Smells nice,” he repeats. “Suits you.”
Rin’s brows knit together with how her heart flutters, her fingers tugging at her hair a little. “Can’t say the same about you.”
Which makes him laugh, half-snorting in what she thinks is genuine surprise, and when she chances a glance at him, he’s smiling at her. Maybe it’s the steam, but she thinks it does actually reach his eyes this time.
She’s about to say more—wave him away, maybe, turn around to put at least some bath salt into the tub, grab her towel again because slowly but surely, she can’t stand it anymore, or something—when he suddenly leans in and she freezes. Kabru cups her face in a rough, slightly wet hand, dragging his thumb over her cheekbone, hovering his face at the side of hers. Smelling… her hair, she realizes. God, she’s going to die.
“Jasmine,” he whispers, breath hot on her ear, and Rin is sure he can see how red her face is, but she can probably chalk it up to the warm humidity of the room. Not like he’ll mention it; he never does. They never talk about any of it, and she knows it’s probably for the better, but she’s still bitter over it. “Right?”
Dumbly, she nods, because it is jasmine, even when the question doesn’t really arrive in her brain right now. “Yeah,” she croaks, watching how Kabru’s eyes thin into half-moons with his smile.
Then he steps back again as if nothing happened and she’s left with a knot in her throat and a sore heart and a little colder than she was just the moment before. He’s still smiling, tilting his head, and for some reason, she feels almost desperate. Wants to throw herself into his arms, but she can’t do that, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t. She can’t give him that, not like this. Not when he’s just entertaining her.
“I should get you more flowers,” he says, with a weird lilt to his tone, as he grabs the bucket again. “I like how you dry them and put them on the wall here. It’s pretty.”
Rin frowns at his back. “I don’t want flowers from you.”
It’s a lie, of course, but also not really. There’s so much of this in-between with Kabru—always, always, always in-between. Never anything full. Never anything real. Part of her thinks she probably ought to be grateful for this, for getting at least this much, but she’s not. Can’t help craving it, either, however, can’t help chasing after it, after him. She’d follow him into hell. It’s terrible.
“Ah, come on,” he says, tone light, pouring the water into the tub. They’ll probably only need one bucketful more. She really should put that bath salt in. “Everyone likes flowers.”
I don’t, she wants to lie, tone biting, but it sounds petulant and childish even unsaid in her own head, so she doesn’t say anything at all. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Once the bucket is once again filled and put securely on the magic circle, he reaches out for her, and it snaps her back into the present. Makes her bat his hand away, and he’s only grimacing for a fraction of a second.
(Of course it’s weird. She shouldn’t have said yes, and he shouldn’t have joked about it in the first place, because of course it’s weird. They’re not children anymore, and they never will be again, even when she’s lured back into this feeling sometimes. Even when he is, too, maybe, perhaps.)
“Rinsha—”
“Stop that,” she hisses, turning for the cabinet under the sink where she keeps the bath salts. “You really are incorrigible, aren’t you?”
Now, with her back turned to his once she’s next to the bathtub, she can feel his gaze again. Feels herself flush from head to toe, in frustration but something else, too, because she has no idea where he’s looking. No idea if he’s looking, either, she guesses, but she knows, she knows, she always knows. That much they still know each other.
“Can I stay the night?” he asks, tone indecipherable, as Rin watches the bath salt cloud the water, sprinkling in a little more for good measure. She knew he’d ask, it was only a matter of time. She hates that she knew. She hates that he actually asked, too.
“Sure,” she says to the water, knuckles white on the edge of the tub. “If you sleep on the floor.”
She doesn’t have to look at Kabru to know he’s smiling again, to know that he’s shaking his head in amusement. Doesn’t look at him as he empties the last bucket into the bathtub, steam filling her eyes, either, doesn’t look at him as he peels out of his clothes and the bandage that’s caked in blood and probably other things, too, and steps into the tub.
She hesitates only a moment before she steps in with him, legs criss-crossing with his when she sits down. It’s hot. With the water cloudy like this, she can’t see much of anything of his body, and it’s hot, hot, hot, steam enveloping her until she’s a little lightheaded, until she really feels like they’re children again.
Somewhere along the way, he leans into her space, head tipping forward until his forehead is pressed to her shoulder. Rin tells herself to not put her hand in his hair, but she does so, anyway, of course.
“Thank you,” he whispers, and she pretends she doesn’t hear it.