Summary: Soubi has never asked much of Ritsuka, but now he asks a favor to help free him from his past.

Disclaimer: I don't own Loveless



"Cut it off"



Ritsuka didn't understand why Soubi had a pair of scissors in his hand, and his typical stoic expression revealed nothing.

He wasn't even certain what to ask "Soubi… what?" Strong wind swept through the open bedroom window. Sapphire orbs disappeared as his fighter shut his eyes for several moments. When he reopened them, they expressed tenderness far beyond what Ritsuka had ever seen.

He was captivated as a hand gently cupped his chin. "Ritsuka" Soubi halted, feeling unlike himself. "It is not customary, but may I ask a favor of you?"

It took a moment to comprehend his fighter's words, "A favor?"

Soubi placed the scissors into his hand. Turning around and kneeling on the floor he said "Cut it off". Soubi always ripped away all his sensibilities, he didn't understand.


"My hair", Soubi confirmed.

"But Soubi… I thought you liked it this way."

Could he explain the reason thoroughly, or would that break him and dispose his resolve?

"It was never mine. Sensei, the man who raised me, molded me to be the greatest fighter… shaped me to be a replica of himself."

Violet eyes widened in surprise. The one who taught Soubi to be a weapon, worthless property for his sacrifice, he chipped away any trace of Soubi's individuality down to his hair…

The boy became so repulsed it scared him. With tears nearing escape he placed the scissors on his desk and said "I'll get a towel".

With careful haste he left the room and soon returned with a black cloth. As he locked the door, Soubi removed his lime-green shirt, placing it over his shoulders.

"I- I'm not sure if I'll do alright Soubi, I've never done this before" he admitted nervously.

"I trust you Ritsuka."

"How much should I cut, a few inches or…?"

"As short as you like."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, "Soubi… it's not my hair".

"As short as you are comfortable cutting it"

Ritsuka considered that for a moment. He didn't want it to be the same as his own hair; he felt that would be too similar to the ill-willed sensei.

Slowly he lifted the silken locks in his hand, As he did Soubi closed his eyes.

He began by cutting it halfway. As the double blades slowly slipped past each other, Soubi's head and heart became lighter.

Ever so light and soft- Ritsuka's mind flashed to magical locks of fairytales. It almost felt wrong to cut it away this way, but he too recalled the limited amount of times his fighter asked favors of him. Along with that, this felt important, like a welcome turning point in Soubi's- and by connection- his own life.

Careful minutes passed, making sure the feather-light strands were cut evenly. Soubi remained in place as he circled his head. Thirty minutes later, he paused, realizing the length of time which had passed during this task. Kneeling all this time, Soubi must be uncomfortable. He stepped back to take in the head before him.

"I think I'm finished, you should check if it's alright… If it's bad, hopefully a real barber can fix it". Soubi stood and lightly shook his shirt onto the towel, each long strand that fell he bid farewell.

He stood before the mirror and Ritsuka watched a smile rise to his lips. The reflection before him was unlike the person he always saw, this man had short hair that did not even reach his shoulders. He no longer saw the spawn of Ritsu.

The swell of joy that encircled him caused a war between happiness and guilt- for he was taught that a fighter was never to feel so happy about something for himself.

He clutched joy.

His teachings never indicated a sacrifice could be as Ritsuka, a caring pacifist who never would lay a hand or weapon to his fighter's skin as punishment.

"Thank you Ritsuka, I cannot explain how much this means to me." From behind he felt small arms wrap around and connect at his trim stomach. "I'm glad you came to me Soubi."

Volumes were spoken in that single sentence.



The end



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