Cut and Color

<center><b><font size=24>Cut and Color </center></b></font> <img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/466335599494955009/467193935358459904/midokoma2.png"> <center><sub>The last phrase of every page is a link to the next one. Best viewed full screen.</sub> [[Begin.->P1 Mido]] </center>

<font color="4db0e5">Her hair is bright blue and brilliant, like the clearest sky; just long enough to sweep out from under her helmet, swaying in the breeze ahead of him and glinting when it catches the sun’s reflection as they ride along the shade-dappled street. The warm light runs along the strands and he imagines his fingers following, echoing the slow, repetitive movements over the soft length of her hair.</font> This isn’t the first time Midousuji has caught himself staring at Komari’s hair, and he feels a reactionary grimace tug at the corner of his mouth. Something about it is hypnotic, <font color="4db0e5">distracting</font>...it draws his attention even when he knows [[he should be focusing on cycling.->First transition.]]

Even worse is the strange, foreign feeling invading him as he stares. Warm. Not quite happiness, no; this feeling was more complex and, in the absence of a simpler way to describe it, he merely categorized it as the color it was inextricably linked to in his mind: <font color="4db0e5">blue.</font> Some traitorous part of him begs to chase that feeling, to pursue it to its natural conclusion and understand its complexities and nuances to their fullest extent - but his rational mind holds him back. He knows prioritizing such a fleeting impulse is senseless, and so it remains, tickling the edge of his consciousness, held at arm’s length, just barely close enough to needle him when his guard is left unchecked, when his mind wanders a little too far, [[a little too fast->P2 Mido]]

This is not what she was expecting, but she can’t say she hates it. In the time that she’s known him, his ever-changing hair fascinated her. The mullet, the buzz, and the daring mohawk he was now sporting - he never commented on the changes, nor did anyone else. Nevertheless, she felt like it gave her the smallest window into the mind of a person whose interests went beyond cycling, and with this invitation he had opened it - the tiniest sliver of space, a crevice she pushed against closely, desperately drinking in this fresh air, grateful he was letting her in, letting her mark him in a way everyone can see. <center><font color="4db0e5">“I want it blue.”</font></center> When he had said those words, an electricity flowed through her, a wild energy she kept bottled up, though her grip tightened on her handlebars. She had smiled, making the arrangements while Midousuji nodded in a vacant way, all the while warning herself against looking deeper into his request. There was no need to pry him open wide and bare everything; as far as she knew, this was nothing more than an innocuous attempt at teenage rebellion, so she let herself be satisfied with the opportunity afforded her and pushed no further. <center> [[After all, she was raised with restraint.->P2 Komari]] </center>

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<center>Today is one such day.</center> He watches the sun flash over her hair, bringing that <font color="4db0e5">blue</font> feeling welling up inside him again and again, and as they pull up in front of his aunt and uncle’s home Komari smiles at him. An off-handed remark on the roots of his own hair, at the yellow of his mohawk losing ground to black, and instead of ignoring her comment he not only agrees to let her touch up his roots but unnecessarily suggests changing the color entirely: <font color="4db0e5">blue,</font> he says, voice flat, his heart straining at the thought of not only being closer to that questionable, pleasant feeling, but of claiming it and making it a part of himself. The next day when Komari shows up at his house carrying a small bag of bottles and jars, her enthusiasm is in direct contrast to the vague sense of dread that Midousuji had felt slowly building since they had parted ways the day before. He shows her to the bathroom and watches her set up, unpacking the items onto the counter while he perches uncomfortably on the hard edge of the tub. He stares at the small light blue bottle in particular, the same shade as Komari’s hair, the feeling he can’t express contained so neatly. He wants to hold it in his hand, but he keeps his fingers curled against his palms as Komari sets to work. Her fingers are meticulous and gentle and Midousuji’s teeth clench as she moves around him. He can’t remember the last time someone touched his hair. <center> [[Gross.->Komari P1]] </center>

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Once fully set up in Midousuji’s bathroom she pulls on the latex gloves, skin crawling as the plastic becomes clammy, cursing their necessity. As the team’s masseur, she’s not shy at all with her touch, and she nudges his head up, then down, her fingers brushing against his neck, still able to detect a surprising tenseness through the thin layer of rubber covering her sensitive fingers. Despite her self-restraint, her hands take on a life of their own, showing their appreciation and massaging his scalp as she brushes her mark on him, her touch enthusiastic and lingering in a way that is certainly excessive for a dye job. Before she knows it, her work is done. She sets a timer to 20 minutes, not bothering to explain the necessity of it to Midousuji, trusting the expertise he’d shown with his perfectly bleached mohawk. Still, he fidgets, perhaps bored, conversation made difficult due to the lack of a road speeding along beneath them. The empty air is filled with her own thoughts, questions about why Midousuji had invited her here swirling around, unanswered. The silence grows tense, until finally she opens her mouth to ask him why, why <font color="4db0e5">blue</font>, but before even her breath can escape she is interrupted by an irritated drawl. “This is going to take too long and there’s no food in the house. Go get something for us to eat,” he orders. There’s no reason to defy him, unless she wants to continue to sit in silence, so of course she obliges, nodding her head politely before heading out, and when she imagines the finished product, the soft thudding in her chest begins to lose tempo. <center>[[//beep beep beep//->P3 Mido]] </center>

<center>Midousuji shuts off the timer.</center> Twenty minutes had passed in contemplative silence, during which he kept himself occupied by examining the labels of the various chemicals Komari had left on the counter, almost afraid to touch the small blue bottle lest he ruin some of the magic. He unfolds himself from his perch on the edge of the tub and climbs into the shower, watching as the water spirals down the drain, bluer than the sky, belated thoughts of it staining the tile (and the earful he’d receive from his aunt he as a result) cutting through the comforting color and causing him some concern. Eventually the water runs clear. He towels off and makes quick work of redressing. As he pulls his shirt over his head, he catches his reflection in the mirror, startled by the familiar color appearing in an unfamiliar place. He leans in close, craning his neck and angling his head, eyes poring over her work. His scalp is clean and unstained, and the border between his hair and his forehead is as crisp as it would be natural; no blotches of dye or angry red irritation. He plucks at the strands running down the center of his head - blue and bright and shocking, just like Komari’s - but now, it was his. <img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/409183756898009088/467181734052626452/mido_mirror.png"> <center><font color="000000">Blue, the color that made him feel.</font> This was exactly what he had asked for. [[And yet… ->P4 Mido]] </center>

As his reflection stares back at him, his long fingers twisting the blue strands into a point, the feeling is gone. He doesn’t understand. Instead of the warmth he expected, a cold revulsion clogs up his throat. He looks again at the bottle on the counter, to be certain it’s the same color and not a shade off, but it’s just a motion; he knows. For some reason this color suits Komari perfectly; it draws his eye, radiating a nuanced warmth that threatens to consume him. On himself, all he sees is an eyesore - sickening, limp, devoid of any life. Looking at the off-putting hue streaking his hair, his only feelings are of discomfort and embarrassment. They weigh down his stomach. It seems obvious now that he couldn’t get closer to grasping that feeling by dying his hair; a problem so complex would never have a solution so simple. When he’s finally able to tear his eyes away from the unpleasant image, they land on something Komari had left on the counter - an item he is very, very [[familiar with.-> transition1]]

Komari returns from the corner store with a surprise - <font color="ffbbe7">pink</font> dye to complete the look and make them truly a pair. He’s not waiting for her when she returns. She places the food on the table and listens at the bathroom door for the sound of running water, catching a faint buzz that ends in a click. She taps on the door, opening it slowly, her greeting catching in her throat at the [[scene laid out before her.-> transition 2]]

Midousuji barely glances at her, one hand grasping the electric clipper while the other brushes the last few chunks of blue hair onto the floor. His eyes focus on the light stripe of tightly cropped hair cutting a path across his head. His expression is inscrutable and Komari quickly wipes the shock from her face, smiling gently to hide her alarm. “Was something wrong?” she asks, voice light, head tilted to the side. “You’re back. I need you to go out again.” He doesn’t even look at her. “We could have buzzed it before dying,” she suggests. “We could have used less-” “Pick up some more dye. Black.” She blinks, pushing away the unsightly emotions trying to creep their way up from her stomach and out her mouth. “Was something wrong?” she asks again, still smiling, her fingertips rubbing against each other of their own accord as her hands hang limp by her sides. His eyes roll in their sockets, locking with her own, and his words feel like ice water dashed in her face. <center> [[“It’s hideous.”->P5 Mido]]</font></center>

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<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/409183756898009088/467140808613560341/buzzer.png"> <center> [[Next->P3 Komari]] </center>

Komari accepts his answer without question and he watches her leave the room. The twisting feeling in his chest begins to loosen, dampening with every moment he looks away from the mirror. When she returns, she is quiet, doing exactly as he asked, bringing his hair back to a comfortable jet-black. He watches her reflection as she works, worried the blue feeling had been extinguished, but every glint of her hair as it moves along with her reassures him that it’s still there, waiting to be picked apart and analyzed, or bottled and kept and admired. He sighs with relief. <center> [[Everything is back to normal.-> P6 Mido]] </center>

The next day, Midousuji rides to Komari’s house for practice as usual, shoulders hunched as he waits outside her house. He looks up at the sky, clear and blue, and not even the thought of his foolish attempt yesterday dampens the feeling. He turns as he hears the sliding door, teeth bared in an approximation of a smile, but his expression falters, eyes narrowing as Komari wheels her bike up to him. <img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/409183756898009088/467185412520148993/blonde_komari.png"> “Hello,” she says, voice bright, twirling her finger in her hair - yellow, like the sun, like happiness - Midousuji’s jaw clenches involuntarily. He says nothing. The discomfort will resolve itself if it isn’t acknowledged, he thinks. He turns away and mounts his bicycle, trusting she’ll follow suit, and as expected he hears her wheels whirring behind him, then alongside as she takes her place in front, this stranger pulling him along. His skin crawls as he watches the familiar patches of light and shadow pass over her and catch on her hair, and he can feel the blue curdling, morphing into something altogether different, a feeling that builds and builds every second he can see her hair flickering in the wind ahead of him. By the time they complete the course, Midousuji is panting with frustration, gritting his teeth as Komari smiles. She raises one hand to wave goodbye and before he can think he snatches her wrist, fingers holding her too tight. She doesn’t even wince, tilting her head to one side, looking up at him through a curtain of yellow. “Is something wrong?” she asks. Her arm twists in his grip, but he doesn’t let go. He leans over her, bringing his face close, free hand grasping a handful of the hair hanging next to her cheek. [[He hisses through his clenched teeth.->last transition]]

<button onclick="myFunction()">Click Me</button> <div id="myDIV">Hello</div>

<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/409183756898009088/467144398984183828/hair.png"> <center> [[Next->P4 Komari]]</center>

<center><font color="000000" size="18"><b> [[“It’s hideous.”-> pre end]]</font></b> </center>

<center><font color="000000" size="18"><b> [[“I see.”-> ending page]]</font></b> </center>

<img src="https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/467114966202449924/467124967436189697/midokoma2.png"> <center>But he can never focus around her. [[Why.->P 1.5 mido]] </center>