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Jagged strands of blue stood out against the bathroom floor, twisted bread crumbs leading the way to a ghastly sight. Empty green eyes peered past-through- Madara as he tiptoed closer, slowly, just in case the scissors that sheared off his hair were still within reach. Early morning light illuminated where tears had marked drying trails down Kanata’s cheeks, and he shoulders still shook with sobs that he lacked the presence of mind to let out. Lightning flashed, filling the room with enough extra light for Madara to discern bruise black eye bags weighing down Kanata’s lower eyelids. The light didn’t last, banishing them both back into the dim, cloudy gray that peered through the curtainless window.
A hollow sort of agony tore through Madara’s chest, a kind of pain that wasn’t his to feel nor was it within his ability to cure. He couldn’t tell which part hurt the most: Kanata being so miserable or having found yet another problem he couldn’t fix. Instead of composing himself, he made a mental note to rehang the curtains, torn from their rod and left carelessly on the floor. A glance to his left indicated that the mirror was broken; Kanata’s splintered reflection was somehow more vacant than the real thing. Thunder cracked, deafening when compared to the vacuum of the bathroom.
Kanata blinked, and then he blinked again, limbs unfurling for only a moment before he refocused his vision and flinched away hard enough to hit his head on the bathtub’s edge. As if they’d never stopped, tears washed over his lower lashes, dripping off his trembling jaw and spotting his shirt- still their school uniform, as if he hadn’t changed in days. Uneven, shuddering gasps, not unlike a fish torn unkindly from its home, disrupted the water’s mirror-like surface. Bitten down fingernails scraped the smooth porcelain, searching desperately for purchase and slipping when they found none. Feeble splashes met them at the water, cold as the wind blowing against the side of the house.
Madara considered keeping his slow approach, surrendering it in favor of getting close enough to drain the cold water from the tub and prevent a nasty cold. In the time it took him to find the plug with his fingers, he noticed Kanata was still wearing his shoes, soaked thoroughly enough to be tossed out. His body shook in spite of his preference for cold water, hairline fractures in his veneer that carried a crushing weight. Madara’s sleeve dripped onto the floor when the water began to drain. A “stay here, okay?” stuck to the roof of his mouth, unvoiced, because there was no reason Kanata would go anywhere else.
As always, the hall closet was stocked with more than enough towels, giving him no trouble when he took an armload with no regard for how many he’d need. Kanata hadn’t moved much, only curling his limbs closer to his body and turning ever so slightly away from the door. At least, Madara considered, he was present enough to stay on guard, even when he had nothing to be afraid of. The tub was fully drained, water leaving Kanata behind as it flowed freely out of sight. His blank expression had fallen into one of devastation, fingers curling against the clinging fabric of his shirt. Madara tugged him forward, prepared for a struggle and receiving none as he wrapped a towel around Kanata’s shoulders.
The kitchen scissors were tossed aside, caught halfway under the discarded curtains with stray hairs trapped in the pivot point. He didn’t tell Kanata to stay still, didn’t need to when even his shaking had come to a shuddering stop. Cutting his hair was disgustingly similar to preparing a corpse for viewing, complete with the cold skin and lifeless eyes. Madara did it, though, combing through with his fingers and hoping it was even enough to last until his next haircut. In the end, it was neat, just a little uneven at his nape. Uneven or not, Madara was running out of drive, and there was still a lot to do before Kanata could be left on his own. So onto the next task he went, grabbing a few extra towels.
Kanata was less than cooperative when it was time to get out of the tub, sliding down until his back was flat against the basin and hair was accumulating even more water than before. His eyes fluttered shut, breath leaving in a huff that fell between annoyed and weary. Madara, with no other choice, pulled him up by the ends of the towel around his shoulders, wrapping him in a bear hug and lugging him to the bathroom floor. Half of him expected Kanata to flop around like a fish out of water, and the other was unsurprised by the apathy with which Kanata just laid there.
New clothes came after drying off, and it was with great hesitation that Madara left him on the floor. Only for a moment did he step out to grab the first set of lounge clothes he could find, but the worry welled up in place of the tears he didn’t have time to shed. As he came back, he snatched an extra blanket off of a shelf. It’d surely be needed, what with the bluish tint to Kanata’s extremities.
Much to his surprise, Kanata was somewhat helpful in the process of drying and changing; whether it was because he didn’t want to be dressed like a child was up to interpretation. While he got redressed, with the door cracked upon Madara’s insistence, Madara had time to set out his futon, adding the extra blanket he’d found and turning it down while he waited. Kanata’s hair was still damp when he collapsed into his futon, burrowing into the blankets with more enthusiasm than Madara had seen in ages. Hopefully, since sitting in cold water for hours didn’t seem to do too much damage, he wouldn’t get sick sleeping with wet hair.
Madara tucked the blankets up to his chin, smoothing them down as he did so. It seemed his work was done, and it was time for school, then, his next obstacle being a reasonable excuse for Kanata’s absence. Before he could leave, though, Kanata grabbed at his wrist with lightning reflexes and icy fingers, pulling him back as soon as he tried to get away. All he managed vocally was an exhaustion slurred mumble, eyes wet and pleading. Strong as he was, Madara wasn’t strong enough to say no, and so he knelt on the floor, prying away from and then enclosing Kanata’s hand between both of his. Fingers curled against his own, flexing and stretching as they thawed. Eventually, they changed hands, and Madara sat closer, only feeling a little guilty when his first attempt to pull away was met with Kanata’s nails digging into his palm. So he stayed a little bit longer.
Kanata warmed under his extra blanket and Madara’s hands, sleeping soundly after a valiant battle to keep his eyes open. Madara would be a blasphemer to leave him so vulnerable, and so he made room for himself in the empty space beside Kanata. Sleep wasn’t on his agenda, but he supposed he could make do watching the sunrise stain the floor, thanking whatever deity could hear him that he wasn’t too late this time. And maybe, just maybe, he’d thank Kanata for letting him get so close, too.