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Hands to Hair
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a houshin engi fanfic

Standard disclaimers apply. This is a fic dedicated to Sakura, aka my beloved Sakki-neechama, for keeping this rabid YouTai fangirl company and always making her smile. Your imouto can't write half as well as you draw, but she tries. Love you much.

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Youzen pushed out the chair at his dressing table with one foot. Taking a deep breath, he flexed his hands stiffly, wincing as pain lanced through the tender skin beneath the layers of ointment and gauze covering them.

/Reminder to self: never let Nataku enter a kitchen again./

Oh, the lad hadn't meant any harm, of course. But Nataku was the only person he knew who could lose patience while waiting for water to boil and decide that shattering the kettle would speed up things. And of course, Youzen had been the only sennin around to rectify the situation - i.e., by yelping and lunging at the exploding kettle in order to prevent the scalding water from setting off an explosion amidst the mass of plugs and live wires directly opposite it. Which he'd successfully pulled off, but it had been impossible to prevent most of the skin on his hands from getting boiled off in the process. Not to mention being slashed by bits of flying metal.

At least his face had escaped damage. And his overcoat had saved the rest of his body from being broiled, but still...

/From now on Taiitsu teaches his proteges how to cook *himself*, damn him./

He gathered his hair in front of one shoulder before awkwardly picking up the brush on the stand. Gripping it as best as he could, he raised the hand to the top of his head.

Silence. Then, "Ouch." A few choice curses muttered quietly, and another "ouch".

The brush clattered to the floor, and Youzen cursed again.

"...You look like you could use a little help there."

Turning, he saw Taikoubou leaning against the open door, face a picture of casualness. "Suusu," he returned somewhat sheepishly, managing to cover up his surprise. " I'd certainly appreciate it, if you would. When did you come up?"

"The door wasn't locked, so I let myself in." Genshitenson's errant disciple pushed himself away from the door and approached the dressing table, green eyes warm with amusement. "Looks like Nataku really lost it, huh? Guess even the Tensai Doushi can't brush all that hair with both hands wrapped."

"Suusu," he protested, but Taikoubou ignored him, having taken the brush from the stand to examine it thoughtfully. Just an ordinary hairbrush, made of a rich brown wood that gleamed when it caught the light. Simple and elegant. Who was the person who'd said something about objects reflecting the personality of their owners? Bull. Or perhaps it was just Youzen who didn't fit the rule - hell, the entire room was even more plainly furnished than his was. A strange room for a strange person, huzzah.

"And here I was thinking you used a pink comb or a silver hair-curler on those locks of yours," he said at last.

Youzen briefly considered glaring, but decided it wasn't worth rising to the gentle mockery in that voice.

"Perhaps you aren't the only one to have thought that." He raised an ironic brow at the surprise on his suusu's face, reflected blankly in the glass before him, and bowed his head. "Ah, Taikoubou-suusu, you of all people don't need to tell me what kind of image I sometimes project. It wouldn't change anything."

Taikoubou only moved a little closer, taking the hair that spilled over his shoulders in gloved hands and putting it behind him. "Sit up," he said shortly, and Youzen did as told. The brush made contact with a place near the top of his head, and was slowly pulled down the thick silky-rough length of cobalt blue. It felt good. Watching the mirror through half-lidded eyes he saw Taikoubou put a hand on his shoulder for support; the soft pressure was a vague warmth that penetrated even his robe and the thickness of the glove enclosing it.

The brush continued its journey down, but Taikoubou suddenly muttered something rude under his breath and removed it from his hair, putting it back on the stand.

Youzen opened his eyes fully. "Is something wrong?"

"Sorry. No. It's the gloves - I can't grip your brush properly. Just let me get 'em off, okay?" The doushi fiddled with some buttons and straps, finally resorting to using his teeth to undo the fastenings of his bulky hand gear. But they came off at last, and Youzen saw his suusu's bare hands for the first time, oddly pale and naked without their usual coverings. They looked unexpectedly delicate, slim-fingered things possessed of a fine-boned grace.

Taikoubou flexed them experimentally, some strange emotion playing over his features.

"Does it feel strange?"

Green eyes gazed back at him from the mirror, something indefinable gleaming within them. "I suppose. Y'know...I don't take these things off too often." There was a very faint hint of almost-distress in his voice, and Youzen turned sharply, hiding a sudden twinge of dismay. "Suusu-"

"Sit properly, would ya? I haven't finished primping your mop." The unspoken message hung in the air. Don't ask.

Youzen stared at him. He stared back, expressionless, and the younger doushi finally faced the mirror again. Taikoubou picked up the brush and resumed navigating it through his hair, even as one hand went back to his shoulder. And this time its warmth was even more apparent, seeping through the layer of cloth into his skin.

His suusu knew something about brushing hair, Youzen thought languidly, closing his eyes as the stiff bristles swept through the dark blue mass to banish snarls and tangles in its wake. There was never more than a gentle pressure at the roots that was pleasantly firm and soothing at once, and...

"Youzen - I can't exactly do this if you're gonna sit on the floor." Taikoubou's voice held more than a hint of suppressed mirth, and with a start he belatedly realised he had half-slid off the stool so the only thing holding his butt off the ground was the dressing table.

There were certain *things* about Taikoubou, Youzen decided, that made him want to dig a hole in the earth and drop himself ten feet under every so often. He attempted to force back a blush and firmly reseated himself, pushing back his hair with an air of studied nonchalance.

Taikoubou eyed his tense figure thoughtfully, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. "You're weird."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Must people always see you in control of everything?"

Something in his chest constricted; he snapped his head round to face the bright eyes, so oddly solemn at the moment. "I'm afraid I don't quite understand you, Taikoubou-suusu," he said tightly. "Perhaps you need to explain yourself."

The other doushi shrugged gracefully. "So you slid off the stool. Heck. S'okay - I won't think any less of you for doing something funny." He snorted and gave the brush a last tug. Leaning forward so his mouth was almost brushing Youzen's ear, he murmured, "Is it really so bad if you aren't perfect?"

As he froze, Taikoubou put down the brush and pulled back his hair so it lay behind his shoulders, hands gently smoothing down a few stray strands that lingered in places.

----

[Taikoubou]

He idly wondered what Youzen would say if he knew the real reason he'd removed his gloves, when he was perfectly capable of handling the brush with them.

Talk about spur-of-the-moment decisions. But then he hadn't expected to be roped into helping Youzen brush his hair, even voluntarily, and the impulse to touch those shining dark threads with his bare hands, to feel that cobalt waterfall on his skin and find out if was as silky as it looked had been unshakeable. Yet there had been that instant of fear immediately after he'd removed his hand gear, and why not, when he'd told Youzen nothing but the truth? He liked his gloves, *needed* them, in fact; they gave him that one barrier against getting too close to everyone around him, a safeguard from getting himself too emotionally involved in anything that might end up hurting both parties. The sennin, the humans - he cared for them, but meddling had its limits, as Fugen and everyone else who had fallen prey to houshin had taught him. If his hands never made actual contact, never bridged that last tiny gap to his total involvement...the gloves served as a reminder he never forgot, and he never took them off except when attending to personal hygiene.

And then a certain Tensai Doushi had come along, with eyes wordlessly crying for help, and it had been impossible for him to resist that plea. So he'd lowered the barrier to touch - what, really? Perfection was too fragile to exist. That was why it didn't.

Now he knew Youzen's hair was even softer than it looked.

/Don't shut me out. Please./

----

And still Youzen sat unmoving, staring blankly at the mirror. Taikoubou was silent, observing his reflection with that same odd emotion playing over his features.

"...Get out." The clipped voice that spoke the words didn't sound like his, it was so tight and hoarse.

Taikoubou sighed. "I was done anyway. Whatever - just think about it, okay?" He walked out of the room, whistling a jaunty tune.

The door shut behind him.

----

[Youzen]

Damn him.

Damn him to the deepest cauldrons of Unchuushi's experiments.

*Damn it*.

Just who did Taikoubou think he was, anyway?

It had been bad enough conceding his suusu surpassed him in ability and will from the first. Worse yet, with the progression of time, that he'd been unable to stop thinking about him even if he wasn't present. And now - now this? The only other person who had made him so aware of his fragility was Gyokutei Shinjin, and even then that had been comfortably within the bonds of master and pupil. He didn't want to consider what bonds there were, or, more accurately, what bonds he *wanted* there to be between Taikoubou and himself.

/You dig your own grave, doushi./

Yet at the same time a wavering spark of hope flickered. *Could* he trust this person? Would it be all right to free himself, as it had been with his shishou? He desperately hoped so. He'd been wearing a mask for far too long, had been walking with a painted smile that chafed more with every time those green eyes met his own.

//Don't shut yourself up, Youzen. You shut out so many things other people have to offer.//

/I never wanted to, shishou,/ he thought wearily. /But by the time suusu came along, it was too late to stop what I'd been doing all my life./

//you don't have to be what others want you to be all the time//

He remembered the look on Taikoubou's face after he had just removed his gloves, and suddenly, painfully, made up his mind.

----

Taikoubou was perched on a rock ledge near his house, using Suupushan as a convenient cushion. Youzen paused at a distance, unsure of how to approach them, when Taikoubou opened his eyes and said something to his reijuu that had Suupu departing.

The invitation was obvious enough. He hauled himself onto the ledge and sat next to his suusu, noting that Taikoubou had put his gloves on again.

"Hey," Taikoubou said, not looking at him. "You thought about it already?"

He nodded, his throat suddenly dry.

"Any big conclusions, then?" Taikoubou sounded odd; with a start, Youzen picked out the faintest undertones of hurt in his voice. /My fault,/ he thought with a pang. /Oh, suusu-/

"That I'm not the only one who made sacrifices." He reached out a bandaged hand hesitantly, placing it on top of his suusu's glove. And Taikoubou finally turned to face him, something like wonder in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You know, then?"

"Not everything. But I do know that suusu doesn't take his gloves off for just anybody." He squeezed the gloved hand under his own as best as he could. "...Thank you."

"You aren't, and never have been 'just anybody' to me," Taikoubou told him quietly, with no trace of his usual flippancy. "And I only wanted to touch your hair."

"Suusu," he protested, feeling a slight warmth steal into his face.

"It's the truth." With a shrug, Taikoubou lifted his other hand, looking at it contemplatively. "Youzen, I don't wear these gloves just 'cos I think they look good. It's a last resort to prevent me from getting too close to anything or anyone so I still retain some objectivity when doing stuff. It's easier on both sides if I don't touch things with my bare hands, you know? The only," he bit his lip before continuing, "the only other person I ever took them off for was Fugen."

Youzen blinked.

"I can tell you," Taikoubou continued, "it hurts to see you parading round in plaster, okay? Especially when I've already seen what you are." Those green eyes pierced through him like emerald spears of light. "Youzen, *listen* - you don't have to be anything but what you want to be around me. You got that? I don't want a Tensai Doushi. I don't want a perfect doll. I want someone who's vain and admits he can't sing. Someone who knows it's okay to mess up now and then because not even sennin get it right every time. You *got* that?"

He swallowed. "Suusu, I -"

A gloved finger placed itself over his mouth. "Never mind. Just tell me this. Do you trust me enough to let me know you?"

"Suusu..." Avoiding that bright gaze, he hunted for the right words to say. "I want to. I really want to, but II'm too used to being what I am now."

"Are you happy being what you think you are?" Taikoubou asked gently.

He stared into verdant depths, feeling a vague sense of light-headedness. "No."

Taikoubou reached up and touched his cheek briefly, a smile breaking over his face. "Then we'll just have to change that, huh?"

Youzen only nodded, the sudden wave of intense relief breaking over him rendering him incapable of speech. And since all he could think of afterwards was that Taikoubou really fit very nicely in the crook of his arms, and that he'd never known suusu smelt a little like fresh-cut grass, or a spring breeze that kept you warm even if you were sleeping outside without anything to cover you, it wasn't too important anyway.

Somewhere in the Houshindai, Gyokutei Shinjin was smiling.

= owari =

Notes:

1) Timeline? Sometime after the end of vol. 23, most likely. Since Fujisaki-sensei never mentioned anything about sennin living conditions that I know of, forgive me for taking a few Creative Liberties here and there. =_=a
2) No one will believe me if I try to say this fic wasn't based on the premise that I think Bou-chan needs to lose his gloves Big Time, so I won't waste my breath denying it. P oh, and forgive me for using such a dumb way to rope Bou-chan into brushing Youzen's hair. *runs away*
3) C&C MUCH appreciated. I think Bou-chan in particular is flatly OOC. o_

--Shi Lin