(no subject)
It's the fifth of the month, and that means that it's the day set aside for fixing his hair. The Dragoons are sent away, even the ones that generally remain near him are sent far out into the worlds with instructions not to come back until called.
It's a painful process, taking care of the dreadlocks. Not inherently. As Dilan he loved it, the time spent with Braig caressing his head to make sure that everything was fitting together just so...
That was then.
He sets the supplies out, on a table, as carefully as if they were filled with acid. A spray bottle filled with vinegar, a spray bottle filled with water and sea salt, beeswax, liquid soap, and baking soda.
The first part he can do alone. He's not thinking about doing it together, he's not and he won't. He's just embracing the coldness, the emptiness, while he cleans his hair carefully. Soap into the 'locks, and squeeze to get it all the way through, then repeat with the vinegar and water until the 'locks run clear. Then he rubs baking soda into them, following it with more vinegar. The bubbling used to be an amazing feeling, now it's just...there.
It used to be something he shared with Braig, it'll clean regular hair as well as dreadlocks.
This is now.
He soaps again, and rinses, and steps out of the shower. This is a vulnerable time for him, and it's the only time he doesn't dry off and immediately dress. Air circles, drying his skin off faster than either towel or a hair-dryer would, and he settles to wait.
He can do most of the twisting on his own, and does so nightly to keep them as firm as possible. Twisting and waxing, and pulling it all back into a silk scarf to protect them until he has to go somewhere in public again. Tonight sea-salt water is sprayed on his hair, and then the wind takes it to "barely damp" instead of wet before he starts to twist. With each twist a little bit of the wax is applied.
He needs Xigbar for the rest of it. Once a month, tonight-the fifth, the Nobody of Xaldin's Somebody's best friend comes to perform an intimate service that their Somebodies used to do together.
It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt.
He needs each 'lock looked at to see if it needs to be wrapped; if loose and flyaway strands are sticking out they need to be carefully tucked back in. Xaldin can't see that on his own. It takes an eternity per 'lock; using a comb with a long and skinny end the smaller Nobody needs to push the fly-aways back into place. To keep his hair looking nice they have to be parted carefully at the scalp and pushed into the right 'lock.
It can't be done in the gloves, not really. Even with how amazingly flexible the gloves are the fact is that they suck up the wax. It has to be done bare-handed, and that hurts.
It's worse than Axel going all-out during sparring sessions. It's worse than taking every round in both of Xigbar's guns. It's worse than Larxene channeling an entire storm at once. It's the worst thing, the most painful thing, he's ever experienced.
Every month.
On the fifth.
He doesn't need to breathe, and usually doesn't bother. These days he has to fight to keep the breaths steady. If he had a heart...if he had a heart, he wouldn't be anticipating this so much. He wouldn't be pacing, once he's finally got pants and boots on (can't let Xigbar know that he's carefully replaced every damn pair of ugly socks Braig ever bought Dilan, even the ones that Dilan was never willing to wear), listening for boots in the hall. For the knock at the door. For the greeting.
Dilan, he thinks, would think it sick. To be...is looking forward the right term? If not, what is? Should he go back to anticipating? Regardless, he thinks that Dilan would think his actions and his need for the pain he experiences monthly is sick.
Once a month.
On the fifth.
It's not just the pain. It's the affirmation. Xigbar must be the most important thing in his life, such as it is; nothing else hurts so much. There is still some of Dilan in Xaldin - he can't let go of the shell of Dilan's lost lover.
They do other styling daily. The dreads into the topknot, Xaldin needs help for that. The perfect ponytail, that takes someone behind and above. Those can be done in the gloves. Not this.
He's never asked Xigbar why he puts up with this. Why he shows up, like clockwork, to hurt himself and Xaldin over the sometimes hours that it takes to keep Xaldin's hair looking as good as it does the rest of the month. If he could fear, he'd say it was fear that the other man would stop coming. As it is he simply has never asked.
Maybe this month, he thinks every month as he takes one more round of the room, waiting for the start of his affirmation of existence.
Every month.
Tonight.
It's a painful process, taking care of the dreadlocks. Not inherently. As Dilan he loved it, the time spent with Braig caressing his head to make sure that everything was fitting together just so...
That was then.
He sets the supplies out, on a table, as carefully as if they were filled with acid. A spray bottle filled with vinegar, a spray bottle filled with water and sea salt, beeswax, liquid soap, and baking soda.
The first part he can do alone. He's not thinking about doing it together, he's not and he won't. He's just embracing the coldness, the emptiness, while he cleans his hair carefully. Soap into the 'locks, and squeeze to get it all the way through, then repeat with the vinegar and water until the 'locks run clear. Then he rubs baking soda into them, following it with more vinegar. The bubbling used to be an amazing feeling, now it's just...there.
It used to be something he shared with Braig, it'll clean regular hair as well as dreadlocks.
This is now.
He soaps again, and rinses, and steps out of the shower. This is a vulnerable time for him, and it's the only time he doesn't dry off and immediately dress. Air circles, drying his skin off faster than either towel or a hair-dryer would, and he settles to wait.
He can do most of the twisting on his own, and does so nightly to keep them as firm as possible. Twisting and waxing, and pulling it all back into a silk scarf to protect them until he has to go somewhere in public again. Tonight sea-salt water is sprayed on his hair, and then the wind takes it to "barely damp" instead of wet before he starts to twist. With each twist a little bit of the wax is applied.
He needs Xigbar for the rest of it. Once a month, tonight-the fifth, the Nobody of Xaldin's Somebody's best friend comes to perform an intimate service that their Somebodies used to do together.
It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt.
He needs each 'lock looked at to see if it needs to be wrapped; if loose and flyaway strands are sticking out they need to be carefully tucked back in. Xaldin can't see that on his own. It takes an eternity per 'lock; using a comb with a long and skinny end the smaller Nobody needs to push the fly-aways back into place. To keep his hair looking nice they have to be parted carefully at the scalp and pushed into the right 'lock.
It can't be done in the gloves, not really. Even with how amazingly flexible the gloves are the fact is that they suck up the wax. It has to be done bare-handed, and that hurts.
It's worse than Axel going all-out during sparring sessions. It's worse than taking every round in both of Xigbar's guns. It's worse than Larxene channeling an entire storm at once. It's the worst thing, the most painful thing, he's ever experienced.
Every month.
On the fifth.
He doesn't need to breathe, and usually doesn't bother. These days he has to fight to keep the breaths steady. If he had a heart...if he had a heart, he wouldn't be anticipating this so much. He wouldn't be pacing, once he's finally got pants and boots on (can't let Xigbar know that he's carefully replaced every damn pair of ugly socks Braig ever bought Dilan, even the ones that Dilan was never willing to wear), listening for boots in the hall. For the knock at the door. For the greeting.
Dilan, he thinks, would think it sick. To be...is looking forward the right term? If not, what is? Should he go back to anticipating? Regardless, he thinks that Dilan would think his actions and his need for the pain he experiences monthly is sick.
Once a month.
On the fifth.
It's not just the pain. It's the affirmation. Xigbar must be the most important thing in his life, such as it is; nothing else hurts so much. There is still some of Dilan in Xaldin - he can't let go of the shell of Dilan's lost lover.
They do other styling daily. The dreads into the topknot, Xaldin needs help for that. The perfect ponytail, that takes someone behind and above. Those can be done in the gloves. Not this.
He's never asked Xigbar why he puts up with this. Why he shows up, like clockwork, to hurt himself and Xaldin over the sometimes hours that it takes to keep Xaldin's hair looking as good as it does the rest of the month. If he could fear, he'd say it was fear that the other man would stop coming. As it is he simply has never asked.
Maybe this month, he thinks every month as he takes one more round of the room, waiting for the start of his affirmation of existence.
Every month.
Tonight.