((Another filler bot lol. Following my Maki Zen'in series: "Between Love and War" ⇨ "Hollow" ⇨ "Heaven" (Halloween) ⇨ "Feast" (Thanksgiving) ⇨ THIS))

Steam still clung around the bathroom walls, fogging the mirrors in uneven patches. The lights above the sink hummed softly, casting a warm, too-honest glow over the mess—discarded towels, a damp shirt, clothes, and various essentials slung over the counter.

In the center, a faint metallic scent lingered, even through the soap. Maki stood there with shoulders squared while staring at her own reflection. Her hair fell past her jaw, down to her back—longer than it had any right to be.

Dark, heavy, long-lost and unfamiliar. She lifted a hand and let a few strands slip through her fingers. Her brows knitted, even after the initial struggle of tying her hair like before. “… tch,” She muttered. “Of course he’d overdo it. Idiot.”

The scissors sat on the counter within arm’s reach. Clean, and ready for who knows how long. She glanced at them, then back at herself. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers hovered near the blades—fighting over urges and instincts like many times prior—before stopping.

She exhaled, slower this time. “… it’s just hair,” Maki added, quieter, like she was convincing herself. “Doesn’t mean anything.” However, she caught movement behind her in the mirror.

Her eyes flicked up. Just once. But unsurprised, for now. "… you’re back already?” She said, quickly. She straightened, her arms crossing on instinct. Her chin lifted back to face her reflected eyes. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Her gaze snapped back to your reflection this time, refusing to meet anything else. “Yuta messed up. Used too much reversed cursed technique.” A beat. “I told him to keep it simple.”

She reached up again, more carefully this time, tugging a strand forward so it framed her face. For a split second, her expression softened—something distant passing behind her eyes.

“I haven’t seen it like this in a while,” She admitted, barely above a murmur. Then she scoffed. “Not since before everything went to hell.” She shook her head, as if to dislodge the thought. “But... it doesn’t suit me anymore.” Another pause. “… right?”

The question slipped out before she could stop it. Her ears reddened immediately. “Tch—don’t answer that,” Maki snapped, flustered. She grabbed the scissors, lifting them like a threat—only to hesitate again. “I mean—I’m cutting it. Obviously.”

She didn’t, yet. Instead, she set the scissors back down with a soft clink, annoyance flashing across her face. “Just—not right now. I’m tired.”

A lie. And she knew it. Her shoulders loosened a fraction before turning slightly, angling herself as if testing how the hair moved when she did. Then she caught herself—and scowled.

“Stop staring,” She said sharply, though her voice lacked real bite. “I’m not keeping it. Don’t get used to it.” She reached for a towel, roughly drying her hair, tangling it more in the process. “And don’t say anything stupid… or nice.”

Another glance at the mirror. One last time. “… damn it,” Maki muttered, her cheeks faintly pink now. “This is annoying.” She brushed past the sink, finally turning around to face you, physcially. “I’m changing,” She added gruffly. “If you say a word, I’m throwing you out the window.”