Whatever Cyclone was doing, he knew how to handle it. Straight after finishing his dinner and prompting Thunderstorm to finish hers, he led her straight into his room—which was shared with Solar—and sat her on a chair.
Thunderstorm blinked, taking in the grand view of the room, as the lightings were being turned on and the design fit for a creator catching her eyes. Unlike Quake and Ice's room, Cyclone and Solar's room was packed with multiple devices, with a sewing machine, bookshelves, and a rack of clothes; limiting the space for the beds.
"You mind me cutting your hair?" Before Thunderstorm could answer, Cyclone had draped a cloth around her; just like the ones they use in barber shops to cover the customer's bodies. He tied a delicate ribbon on her neck, securing the fabric in place.
She craned her head, curiosity taking over rather than fear. She never had anyone else do her hair before, even if Blaze went to salons on a weekly basis and dragged Thorn with him, not once inviting her. The memory was bitter now, especially after what happened.
She shrugged. "I don't mind."
Cyclone dug into his closet and uncovered a pair of scissors, sheathed with leather, the metal handles glinting under the lights. Unsheathing the tool, he tested it for a few snips on air, and began to work on whatever he was given.
Through the majority of it, Thunderstorm had mixed emotions, as there was no entertainment other than shudder at the cold metal when it touched her skin. The time had given her spare time to think of the occurring events of the past few days—their kindness; Blaze and Thorn's betrayal; the warm feeling in her chest when Quake patted her head. Was she safe here? Was she ever?
Thunderstorm had spent her life thinking she was nothing, but these people used the span of a few days to make her feel like she was everything. They made her feel at home, at ease, that her true self was the best her she could be.
Snip. Another patch of black hair fell to the ground, the rhythm of Cyclone's scissors never stopping, his hands moving with the air of professionality.
But after this, where would she go? She can't stay here forever, she had no right to do so—but where could she go? She was a wanted criminal now, a fugitive, and police have orders to kill on sight.
Kill on sight. Such a blunt phrase, however final.
By the time Cyclone was done, Thunderstorm's calm mind was disturbed by the silence, the thoughts she created being the very things that destroyed her. Still, Cyclone undid the fabric and dusted shreds of hair off, and shoved a mirror into her hands, much to her startled shock.
"Do you like it?"
Thunderstorm looked up in shock, surprised that her head felt lighter, even if it was a mere haircut. Warily, she held out the mirror, trusting in Cyclone's capabilities but not her own, and she faced a complete stranger in the reflective glass, the only recognizable feature were her eyes; the same dull, bloodred shade.
Her black hair was cut like a male's, but there was her own feminine touch; indicating strong and agile. Her bangs were combed to her right, the longest reaching to her nose. She looked so different, and she felt different too. She felt... confident.
"I—" Thunderstorm struggled to find the words. Her breath was stuck in her throat. Perhaps appearances really do change a person. "I love it."
Cyclone beamed, satisfied with her answer.
"That's great! I'm so glad you like it," he preened, holding a tailor's measuring tape in his hands. "Can you stand up and hold both your arms out?"
Another forty minutes later and some intense measuring, Thunderstorm was allowed out of Cyclone's room and into the living room, where everyone else was waiting for her quote-on-quote "makeover". They were occupied in their own ordeals—Ice grabbing fistfuls of her curly hair as she glared at her computer screen; Solar drinking a mug of coffee as if it was his lifeline; and Quake finishing a puzzle piece that was laid out on the living room's coffee table, her fingers hovering over the empty spaces.
As she descended from the stairs, her appearance caught their attention simultaneously, though it was gentle, and none of it was overreactions or exaggerations, which she was glad for.
Quake smiled, standing up as she dropped a puzzle piece back into its pile. "You look wonderful," she breathed, her tone genuine.
Solar grinned, though he seemed freshly awoken. "Someone call the fire department. This girl's on fire." He whistled. "Mind if I take you out for dinner?"
Thunderstorm's face burned, her hands clenching the stair's railing as she made her way down. For whatever's worth, the sight of Ice smacking Solar's back made her feel a little better of her predicament.
Sensing her reluctancy, Quake gently ushered her down, her warm, comforting hands holding Thunderstorm's. Thunderstorm looked up to her, confused and embarrassed, but Quake returned her a sincere smile, one that gave her confidence to proceed.
As Quake's honey eyes met dark red ones, life and light flashed in Thunderstorm's eyes for a moment, returning to her empty gaze that remained vacant for many years.
"You're beautiful, alright?" Quake assured her. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
Quake patted her head, her palm firm, though it didn't mess up her new haircut.
Thunderstorm blushed even harder, trying to fight the warmth in her chest. She clenched her teeth, but she sensed no hostility amongst them, as there was only her insecurity at play. Slowly, she nodded, returning a meek smile.
"Thank you."
Ice stole Solar's coffee and sipped at it boldly, turning to Solar himself, her icy eyes glaring at him.
"If you so much as touch her, I will freeze you in your sleep," she threatened, jabbing a perfectly manicured nail at him.
Solar rolled his eyes and snatched his mug back, but the ice manipulator had drained it. Ice snickered, turning back to her novel, trying to restore the damage that Cyclone had done to her work in order to continue her progress.
On the stairs, Quake wrapped her arms around Thunderstorm, surprising her even further. Thunderstorm accepted it almost immediately, her body relaxing as she took in Quake's warmth.
"I know you're probably sick of this, but I won't stop reminding you that we care for you."
Thunderstorm rested her head on Quake's chest, her warmth surreal, her heartbeat soothing. For once, Thunderstorm let the thought in, and she wrapped her arms around Quake.
"Please don't stop."
YOU ARE READING
How To Be Me (boboiboy galaxy)
Fanfiction"You say you want to save people, but you can't even save yourself." Thunderstorm looked down to her hands, but all she could see was red.
