Perfect Picture
The cold beer bottle, dwarfed by my hand, slowly warmed, condensating and wetting my palm. I clung to it as if my life depended on it, focusing my entire body on cradling it and keeping it safe from spilling. Now I knew Kenichi wasn't returning, I couldn't relax. It'd taken all the courage I could muster to enter Hayashi's unit in the first place. Since I'd been stigmatised, chaos and destruction have followed me everywhere I went. I'd become a bad omen given flesh, and right now, I felt too big and clumsy to be in his home—a minimal, immaculate, and tranquil home. One wrong move, and I could make a terrible mess, and he'd just given me the perfect weapon to ruin the rug beneath me.
"Aren't you going to drink that?" Hayashi asked. Sitting neatly, cross-legged on the other side of the short table, he combed his long black hair.
"Uh, yeah," I obliged him with a swig. It tasted good and refreshing. That one mouthful promised relaxation. Two generous drinks followed, and then another and another, and before the minute was through, I'd drained the bottle.
"You didn't have to down it," he chuckled, the comb moving methodically through his long, silky strands. "You can go wash up first," he said, nodding toward the bathroom.
"What?" The beer turned to concrete in my stomach.
"You wash up fi—you're not returning to the Nest tonight?"
"Wh-why wouldn't I?" I gulped, torn between holding the empty bottle tighter and fearful of breaking it.
"I wouldn't want to listen to them fucking…" How elegantly Hayashi rose from the floor made his words seem more crass. Then he began stripping out of his clothes, first his shirt, and the moment he reached for his pants, I sprang up from my seat. Disgusted by my wicked desire to sit and watch him undress, I locked myself away in the small… tidy… tiled…wet room. Everything had its place, and my head was barely an inch shy of the ceiling; if I stretched out my arms, I could knock over any number of the products stored regimentally on the bathroom shelf.
The anxious pounding of my heart echoed off the tiles and was only drowned out by the shower. Even the water couldn't soothe me. The door between us wasn't enough to calm me from my panic about being naked in his house. Too scared to move and scrub my dirty feelings away, I resigned to standing under the water until the suds were rinsed from my hair. Stagnant, I stood waiting like a stray in the rain.
Once I'd showered, I waited some more, this time for Hayashi to wash up. Amidst the sound of falling water, I heard his dulcet tones. I didn't know the song he was singing or the language of the lyrics, but it was a pretty, pleasant sound. I was both pleased and pained by how beautiful a person he was. There was a time when I'd been happy and comfortable enough to sing in the shower… before my divorce when our Idaho home was filled with love and happiness, and our children.
Several picture frames hung on the lounge's back wall, each holding a photograph. The ones that stood out to me were those of Kenichi when he was still a child. Hayashi had been his guardian since he was five; I knew that much. I'd stood to get a closer look at one in particular.
"What are you looking at?" Hayashi was at my side, towelling his hair.
"Is this your parents?" I asked.
"No," he grinned, laughing gently. "That's me and Akari."
"You?" My face contorted, confused. It was a Japanese man and woman in traditional clothes, no doubt a couple, and their closeness indicated as much. The photograph was sepia and looked old, but the man in the photograph wasn't Hayashi.
"Yes. Believe me, that is me, just not in this body." The Tengu grinned knowingly, "And Akari was my wife."
"She's… not… anymore?" I hated the reason why I asked… Hayashi paused in thought, staring at the photograph fondly.
"Til' death do us part wasn't in our vows, so maybe she will always be my wife." His philosophical, sentimental words cut me, but he didn't let me dwell in my melancholy. He reached out his hand and combed my damp back from my face. "Let me cut your hair."
I didn't need much persuading. Its length was becoming aggravating; my undercut had grown out, leaving a very awkward two-layered cut. Sat shirtless and wrapped in a sheet on the kitchen floor, Hayashi knelt behind me. First, he clipped the length on my crown right down and then worked at blending the two together so that my hair was much tidier. The combing of his fingers through my damp locks sent shivers down my spine. I knawed away at the inside of my cheek, trying to contain my enjoyment, hoping he wouldn't notice. It didn't work. Pressing his hands down onto my shoulders, he instructed me to "relax" time and time again until he pulled a move that coaxed an involuntary pur from me, quickly followed by a gasp when my back bolted straight, aggrieved that my body had betrayed my so easily.
"Ha-ha, I thought you might like that," Hayashi said, chuckling playfully, as he withdrew his fingers from where he'd rubbed behind my ear.
"Uh—I…" My hand flew up to shield my ear from any more of his antics. "Hayashi!"
"Yes, Nate?" he teased and resettled to kneel before me. Without further ado, he trimmed my bangs. Positioning my hair this way and that, he assessed his handy work. Finally, he announced he was finished and directed me back to the bathroom to rinse off while he swept up the hairy offering I'd left on the kitchen tile.
The man looking back at me from the bathroom mirror was almost unrecognisable. Who knew a fresh cut could make such a difference? Vainly, I took a minute to admire myself.
Hayashi had finished cleaning and was heaving his bedroll from the cupboard when I exited the bathroom. "I wondered where you slept," I said. I'd noticed that the only bed was Kenichi's iron-sprung bunk.
"Kenichi grew out of his love of bedrolls at fourteen. I've never been able to sleep well on a frame. He won't mind if you borrow his bed for the night if you don't want to sleep on the floor with me."
"W-with you?"
