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Tohru’s mom didn’t talk a lot about her future wedding. She always said, regardless of romance, as long as she followed her heart that she’d have a happy future, getting married one day or not. Tohru understands she didn’t want to pressure her, but it’s left a blank in her head when imagining her own wedding. Though of what she could’ve fathomed, the Sohma’s expensive and traditional style was beyond any expectations.
If Mom were here, she would be crying. There are a lot of reasons to be crying.
But Tohru sits obediently with as calm an expression as she can as people flurry around her, adjusting her shiromuku and adding touch-ups to her makeup. If she cries now, it’ll ruin all this hard work.
The door to the room slams open. Akito enters like a looming shadow, her black haori falling off one of her shoulders. “This groom wants to see his bride. Everyone, out.”
The people quickly leave, leaving the two of them alone.
Tohru’s scared, of course she is. As she’s grown closer to the Sohma family, she’s heard countless stories of how this person hurt her friends. Even now, this is a punishment for them. It was a wedding or a funeral; with options like that, Tohru had no choice in the matter.
Akito walks around her with scrutinizing eyes.
Tohru braces to be slung with insults, but is shocked when Akito instead places a hand on top of her head.
“Your hair is so long, so soft too,” she runs her hand through Tohru’s hair, which still hasn’t been styled.
Her groom-to-be grabs a comb and starts brushing her hair, deftly undoing any tangles without tugging too hard.
“Have you been growing your hair out for a long time?” Akito asks.
“Ah, y-yes. My mother thought I looked cute with it like this, especially when she could do it up in braids and ribbons. In her youth she had long hair but kept it short after I was born, so she liked to take care of my long hair in place of hers.”
Fingers brush through her locks before gripping tightly, pulling her head back. Tohru flinches.
“How annoying. It’s always your mother this, your mother that. Maybe we should just cut it all off.”
Tohru’s heart races painfully and her breath hitches. “What- no, please. I’m… I’m sorry.”
Rationally, it’s just hair, but it was Tohru’s. The last time her mother saw her, it was Tohru with long hair. The idea of losing this connection to her mother is too painful to give up.
If Akito truly wants to cut off all her hair, what could she do? She has to accept it, whatever is given to her.
Tohru’s scalp stings from the pressure, but Akito abruptly lets go.
“Wouldn’t it be a joke to have a wedding with two brides and not a single strand of hair between them? Finish up getting ready. Hah, what a joke.” Akito throws the comb on the dresser, knocking over various bottles from the force.
The assistants from before tentatively file back in, returning to what they were doing before. Tohru carefully counts her breaths, trying to calm herself.
That could’ve gone a lot worse. After they’re married, they’ll probably see a lot more of each other. Even if it’s a bleak situation, Tohru doesn’t find it daunting. Instead…
Didn’t she seem very sad that she couldn’t grow out her hair?