Rekindled Embers 4

Time for Ryo’s haircut

 

As the evening sets in, I can’t help but be drawn to Ryo’s hair. It’s so long now, flowing past his waist. I let my fingers glide through it, feeling the weight of it with every pass. The strands slide smoothly between my fingers, so soft.

“You know,” I murmur, more to myself than to him, “it’s kind of crazy how long your hair’s gotten. It’s beautiful, but I’m kind of getting the itch to do something with it.”

I keep running my fingers through it, gently tugging a few strands here and there. His hair feels like silk, and as I hold a long section in my hand, I imagine cutting it, giving it some shape, maybe something lighter and more playful.

“I could trim the ends,” I think out loud, teasing him a little. “Maybe just a little off, clean it up, give it some bounce. Or maybe… a little bit more.” My fingers play with the length of it, lifting sections up to see how they fall. “What if I just went a little shorter? You’d look so good with a fresh, layered look. Something that moves more, maybe even a soft fringe to frame your face.”

I smile to myself, picturing the possibilities. My fingers find their way to the very ends of his hair, gently tugging at them, as if to imagine what it would be like to cut them away. “I bet you’d look incredible with something sharper, more defined… like a clean, angular cut. Maybe even just a little bit of volume at the top. I can already picture it.”

I glance at him, catching the way his eyes flicker between curiosity and uncertainty. “I think it’s time for a change,” I say softly, almost coaxing. “What do you think?”

He’s still silent, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. Maybe he’s not sure what I’ll do, but I know he’s thinking about it. I let my fingers linger one last time, feeling the silky strands slip away as I pull back, smiling at the thought of making it all feel fresh.

I let my fingers weave through his hair again, teasing the strands, feeling the weight of them slip between my fingers. The longer I touch it, the more the idea of cutting it grows in my mind.

I pull a thick section of his hair into my hand, holding it as I guide him toward the chair. “What do you think? I could tidy it up… or maybe go a bit bolder.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but I can feel him tense slightly as I nudge him toward the chair. “Come on,” I tease, brushing a few strands behind his ear as I gently push him into place. “Just trust me on this.”

I pull out the scissors, his scissors, the ones he used on me earlier, and run my fingers along the cool blades. I hold up a few inches of his hair, my fingers lightly tugging at it. “Maybe just a little off the ends,” I muse, glancing at him in the mirror, my smile teasing. “Or maybe more… who knows?”

I wait, letting the moment hang in the air.

I gently sweep my fingers through his hair again, guiding it smoothly with the softest of touches, as if I’m perfecting every strand. The way it moves under my hand is almost hypnotic, each lock falls effortlessly, perfectly into place, and I can feel the weight of it, the length, the sheer volume. His hair looks like it’s straight out of a magazine, flawless and sleek. I brush through it a few more times, making sure there’s not a strand out of place, just enjoying the feel of it before the inevitable change.

I can’t resist teasing him, a playful smile tugging at my lips as I look down at him. “You know,” I look at him, watching the way his hair shifts in the light, “there was a time when this was all done to me. My long hair, just like this. Except…” I pause, letting my fingers gently tug on a strand, “…I ended up with blunt bangs. No turning back, just like that.”

I let the words hang in the air for a moment, my fingers stilling as I gently pinch a section of his forelocks, pulling it forward. The lock slides smoothly between my fingers, and I hold it like I’m about to cut it into something new.

“Imagine this,” my fingers brushing over the strands, gauging its thickness. “Just a little snip, and you could have bangs like mine. A bold change.” I pause, letting the silence stretch, watching the hesitation in his eyes. “I could do it right now… or, you know, we could go a different route, but this would be the moment.”

Before I can continue, his voice cuts through the tension, almost pleading. “Wait, hold on,” he says, his eyes wide, a slight panic creeping into his voice. “Please, Jas… not bangs. I can’t… I can’t have bangs. I’ll take care of your bob, I’ll dry it, style it, play with it… Anything, just… just don’t cut my hair like that.”

The urgency in his voice almost makes me laugh. His eyes flicker between desperation and a strange vulnerability. He really doesn’t want bangs.

I smirk, my fingers still lightly holding his hair, teasing him further. “Oh, you’re willing to pamper my bob, huh? Dry it, style it, play with it whenever I want?” I give a soft chuckle, enjoying the playful bargaining. “You’re really going to beg me to keep your hair safe from bangs?”

He nods eagerly, his hands fidgeting at his sides, clearly willing to do anything to avoid that fate. “Please, Jas,” he repeats, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “Anything but bangs.”

I take a moment, letting his words linger. The power dynamic is so delicious, but I can’t resist teasing him just a bit more. “Alright, alright,” I say, leaning back slightly, giving him a mock sigh of consideration. “I’ll spare you the bangs… for now.”

I step back, glancing at his long hair once more. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t be cutting something,” I add, my tone light but firm, already deciding where the trim’s going to happen.

I give him one last look, fingers still gently brushing through his hair, as I think about where to make my next move.

I step back, giving him a playful, almost wicked smile as I gather his hair into my hands. Slowly, I start gathering the long, soft strands, combing through them with my fingers, feeling their weight as I bring them down to the nape of his neck. The hair slips easily through my fingers, the silky texture falling naturally into place, and I hold it all together, gathering it into a loose ponytail.

His hair feels like it’s almost alive in my hands, and as I pull it into the nape of his neck, the way it hangs so perfectly, I can’t help but admire how it flows. It’s so thick, so long, and so easy to manipulate, but right now, it’s about to be something else entirely. I hold it at the base of his neck, feeling the length in my grasp as I prepare the next move.

I bring the scissors up, their sharp blades gleaming under the soft light. I hover them just above the ponytail, and for a moment, the scissors seem to shimmer in the air, reflecting the anticipation of what’s coming next. I give him a mischievous smile, my fingers holding the gathered hair firmly. “You know,” I say, my voice low and teasing, “I could always just give you a bob, too. Make us twins.”

I let the scissors hover near the base of the ponytail, the threat of the cut looming in the air, his long hair hanging just below my fingers, so tempting to chop. I glance at him, catching his eyes in the mirror. “What do you think, Ryo? Should I go for it?” I open the scissors just enough to catch the ponytail, squeezing them lightly, just enough to make him tense. His hair is practically my hostage now, and I know he can feel it, the weight of the moment, the sharp tease of steel against all that length.

He watches the scissors closely, his breath shallow, and I catch the flicker of nerves dancing in his eyes. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s considering reaching up to stop me. But he doesn’t. He hesitates — which only encourages me. I slide my hand slowly down the ponytail, letting the strands ripple through my fingers, silky and obedient, right to the very ends. I give it a slow, possessive tug, keeping the whole bundle loosely gathered in my grasp, like it already belongs to me.

Then I lift the scissors with a little snap in the air — not cutting, just enough to make him flinch. I tilt my head, smiling down at him in the mirror.

“Alright, Ryo,” I say sweetly. “You’ve got three options. Just pick A, B, or C.”

He stares up at me, like he’s trying to read the answer in my face. Then, slowly, he exhales.

“…B,” he says, his voice cautious.

I grin, biting back a laugh. “You sure?”

He nods, but I see the uncertainty flash again.

I lean in, still holding his hair in one hand, and begin to explain.

“A was just a dusting,” brushing the scissors gently against the very ends of his hair. “A little snip here, a little cleanup there. You probably wouldn’t even notice it was gone.”

I shift my grip a little higher and glance at him through the mirror. “C would’ve taken you to chest-length. Still long. Still very much the hair you like me to play with.”

Then, softly, I say, “Chin down.”

He hesitates, but eventually lowers his head. The moment he does, his hair cascades forward like a silk curtain, tumbling over his shoulders in smooth waves. It spills past his shoulders, brushing against his arms and catching the light with every slight movement. For a moment, I simply watch it fall, mesmerized by its natural beauty.

But I can’t help myself — I reach for it again, my fingers practically trembling with excitement as I slide them through his thick, silky strands. I feel the weight of it, the smoothness, and I can already tell how different it’s going to look once I’m done. I gently sweep it back from his face, gathering it all into my hands, pulling the strands toward the nape of his neck in a loose ponytail. My grip tightens, just a little bit, like it’s already mine to shape.

The scissors return to my hand, their cold, shiny blades gleaming in the light. I open them just enough to frame the gathered hair beneath my fingers, holding the ponytail firmly in place.

I lean in, my voice low and teasing as I whisper near his ear, “And B?”

The blades click softly as I position them above my fingers, the tension building as I prepare to make the first cut.

“B is a bob.”

I can barely contain myself as I squeeze the scissors gently, feeling them bite into the thick strands. The blades glide through the hair with ease, each snip sending a thrill through me as his long locks begin to fall away. My fingers grip the ponytail tighter, my excitement building as I draw the scissors through the hair, cutting away more and more.

The tension in the ponytail shifts. The weight starts to change. I can feel the difference with every slice, and with each movement, the bob begins to form. His hair is no longer heavy and flowing down his back. it’s lightening up, shifting into something fresh, something new. The bob is taking shape, the ends of his hair falling just at his neck, longer than my bob, but still unmistakably shorter than what he walked in with.

I shift the scissors again, the blades sliding through the hair with a satisfying crunch. The bob is becoming real now, the ends tumbling into place around his shoulders, layers starting to settle around his face. I can feel the ponytail becoming heavier in my hand with every snip, and it makes my heart race a little faster.

As the last lock falls away, I hold onto the ponytail, feeling the weight shift completely. The transformation is almost complete, and I can hardly contain the excitement buzzing inside me. The thick, glossy mass of hair that once tumbled past his waist is now just a memory, replaced by a lighter, more manageable style that frames his face beautifully.

I gather the severed ponytail with a satisfied smile. Holding it in my hand, I can’t help but tease him a little.

“Well, well, look at this,” shaking the bundle of hair gently, my voice playful. “This was your choice, Ryo.”

He glances at me nervously, then back at the hair, his hands still at his sides. “Didn’t think you’d actually go through with it.”

“Didn’t you?” I tease, shaking the ponytail in front of his face, his long hair now reduced to the neat bundle resting in my palm. “Well, we’re here now.”

I carefully wrap an elastic band around the base of the ponytail, and with a sly smile, I guide it over to the ponytail Ryo cut from me earlier, placing both beside each other on his lap.

“There,” I say softly, with satisfaction in my voice. “A little comparison. Yours and mine.”

His eyes glossed over the two ponytails, the difference in length striking. I let the weight of his cut hair rest against him, both bundles of hair side by side.

“You know,” I murmur, stepping closer again, my fingers lightly grazing the ends of his new bob, “the bob suits you. Looks amazing.” I let my fingers play with the strands. “But too bad it had to be chopped off… just because of your choice.” I grin, enjoying every second of it.

He shifts in his seat, a nervous laugh escaping. “It’s just… so different from what I had,” he admits, his fingers twitching at his sides. “But… I guess it looks good. It’s not so bad.”

I give him a smile, feeling the excitement of the transformation buzz in the air. “I’m glad you like it,” I reply, my voice a little teasing, but warm. “You know, I think we can make it look even better.”

I slide the scissors back into my hand, my fingers gripping them tightly. “Let’s give this bob some movement. Make it wild, like I know it should be,” I say with a smirk, already cutting into the bob.

With the first slice, the hair at the back of his neck falls slightly unevenly. I keep cutting, my movements fluid, slicing at an angle to give his bob texture and layers. Each snip adds more shape, more energy to the style, the pieces tumbling around his face with more life, bouncing freely and unpredictably.

I angle the scissors again, slicing upward through the strands, creating layers that flick out at the ends. The once-sleek bob now has a raw, textured edge, wild and full of movement, making it feel less controlled and more effortlessly chic. It feels right. I feel right.

Ryo watches me, his gaze locked on the reflection in the mirror. “You’re really going all in, huh?” he mutters, a mix of awe and apprehension in his voice.

“I’m giving it the shape it deserves,” I reply, smiling at him through the mirror as I make one final slice at the side, ensuring the cut has that perfect imperfectness. “This is your bob, after all.”

I step back for a moment, admiring the tousled, freshly shaped bob that now frames his face. It’s wild, full of personality, and distinctly different from the long locks he just had.

I let out a satisfied sigh, looking down at the ponytails still resting on his lap. “Well, Ryo,” I say softly, “looks like someone’s officially joined the bob club.”

I hold up his thick ponytail beside his face, a perfect contrast. “Doesn’t it look great? Too bad you had to chop it off, but hey, at least my ponytail has company now.”

The hair, now a wild, textured bob, catches the light with every movement he makes. I can see him adjusting to the change, still processing the transformation but somehow looking more himself in the fresh cut.

“You’ll get used to it,” I add with a wink, letting him take in the look as I stand back and admire the bold, final result.

As he takes in his new look, I lean in, brushing my fingers through his freshly cut hair one more time, enjoying the contrast between the soft, now bobbed strands.

He meets my gaze in the mirror, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You really went all in, huh?” he says, his voice softer now, more accepting.

I chuckle lightly, giving him one last playful squeeze on his shoulder. “You know I don’t do things halfway.”

The room is quiet for a moment, just the sound of his breath and the soft rustling of his hair as it falls into place. He shifts slightly in the chair, his fingers nervously brushing the ends of his new bob, as if still unsure but gradually embracing the change.

“You’ve got a good look now, Ryo,” I add, my voice almost affectionate.

With one last look at his transformation, I step back, crossing my arms and smiling at him. “I think we’re done here. Unless…” I pause, my tone playful again, “… you want to try something else?”

He looks at me through the mirror, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a hesitant smile. “Nah,” he says with a resigned, but amused, sigh. “I think I’ve had enough cutting for one day.”

I laugh softly, my fingers lingering near his neck, then pull away. “Alright. You’re free to go, Ryo.”

As he stands up, his hand reaching up to touch the new bob again, I can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It’s a small victory, but one that’s all mine, and his, in the end.

“Enjoy your bob,” I tease lightly, giving him a playful wink, giving him a moment to get used to the change. “It suits you.”

 

playing with bobs

But I don’t walk away. Not just yet.

Instead, I linger behind him, eyes fixed on the tousled new shape I carved from all that length. Ryo’s hair now sways just past his jaw in uneven, textured flicks, wild and free. It’s alive, unrestrained, still settling into itself.

My fingers reach for it again, unable to resist. I run them through the back of his bob, where the strands are thickest, where the layers fall with just enough bite to feel intentional, even if we both know I was improvising with every snip.

“Still feels unreal,” watching how it flips out at the ends as I tousle it. “All this hair… gone. Just like that.”

He leans into my touch, just a little. “Feels lighter. But weird. I can’t stop noticing it when I move.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I smirk, tugging a bit more playfully now. “And you’ll look used to it once I’m done breaking it in.”

I brush the layers forward around his face, then sweep them back again, testing the weight, the motion. The bob isn’t clean, not like mine. It’s rebellious. Imperfect in a way that suits him far too well.

“I like how messy it is on you,” I say, curling a section near his ear and letting it spring loose. “It doesn’t sit still. It’s got attitude.”

“Just like someone I know,” he mutters, catching my eyes in the mirror.

I flash him a grin, then step around to face him — and that’s when his eyes shift. They flick down. To my jaw. To the clean, blunt line of hair curving sharp and exact under my chin.

His expression shifts instantly. A stillness in him now. “Your bob,” voice lower. “I forgot how short I went.”

“You didn’t forget,” I say, tilting my head just enough to make the cut swing and bounce. “You were very deliberate.”

He watches it move, the way it hugs tight to my neck, the ends perfectly even all the way around, dense and thick. He reaches a hand out before he even finishes thinking.

“Can I?” he asks softly, fingertips just grazing the edge of it.

“You already did,” I say, stepping closer. “But yes. Touch it.”

His hand lifts fully now, fingers sinking into the heavy weight at the back of my head. He gathers the bob up, testing its shape, the way it holds and falls. I feel his breath catch as he cradles the base of it, then lets the ends fall against my neck again.

“God, it’s… thick,” he says quietly. “Shorter than I meant. But…”

I raise a brow, smirking. “But it suits me?”

He nods. “Too well. It shouldn’t look this good.”

“You’re not wrong,” I murmur, letting my eyes close briefly as his fingers trace the cut line beneath my ear, then down to the sharply squared nape. “It’s a little aggressive. But I like it.”

He chuckles, brushing the strands forward over my cheek, watching them bounce back when he lets go. “It’s… sharper than mine. More severe. It moves differently. Yours is heavier, like it knows where it belongs.”

“Mine’s discipline,” I whisper. “Yours is chaos.”

I raise my hand to his bob again, combing through the layered mess I left him with. “See? Yours flicks wherever it wants. That’s the difference.”

He grins now, the energy shifting as he lifts another chunk of my hair. “And this…” he says, flipping it gently, watching it swing just below my jaw, “…this is all mine. I made this happen.”

“And I let you,” I remind him with a knowing smile. “There’s a difference.”

“Still,” he mutters, thumbing along the precise edge at my temple. “You didn’t stop me.”

“Would you have listened if I did?”

He smirks, then runs both hands into the back of my bob, lifting it up gently, gathering the dense weight with care. “No. But I still thought you’d grab the scissors back before I closed it just at your nape.”

I shrug, amused. “I was curious what you’d do to the perfect long ass hair I grew for you.”

“And?”

I step in close, our bobs brushing, mine grazing just under my chin, his tickling just above his shoulders. I let my fingers slip into his wild cut again, fluffing the back, pushing the front forward so it falls in his eyes. “I like what I see.”

His hands tighten slightly in my hair. “So do I.”

We stay like that for a moment, hair touching, fingers tangled in each other’s cuts. The contrast is obvious now. His: textured, tousled, impulsive. Mine: clean, heavy, deliberate. And yet… they complement each other perfectly.

I reach up, guide his hand down the curve of my bob, placing his fingers right at the base of my nape. “Feel that?”

He nods slowly. “Yeah.”

“That’s how short you took me,” I whisper. “And now I want you to take care of it.”

He swallows, eyes locked on mine. “Every day, if you let me.”

I lean in close, lips brushing his cheek. “Good. Because if I’m going to walk around with your haircut… you’re going to learn to live with mine.”