shimmy had this great idea of post-war kaidan having a streak of white through his hair because of stress, etc. and obviously this idea appealed to me IMMENSELY so i have adopted it into my headcanon (and the comic) forever……
Sometimes, when Kaidan saw his own reflection—scars and gray and a streak of white, not the image of himself he still carried around without minding the weight—he had to wonder if Shepard would’ve recognized him these days.
A lot’s changed since you’ve been… Since we defeated the reapers. But I know the first thing you’d notice is probably the hair. It’s always the small things that get to us, right?
Shaving meant he had to be mindful of cutting himself on a place that’d been cut already, tilting his chin to the side to draw the razor over the stubble that’d grown in dark overnight. At least it meant something was still growing—people felt the same way about all the local weeds.
You’d probably ask, who the hell is that old guy wearing your blues, Kaidan? And you know what, Shepard… I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you. All I know is that I’d try.
He splashed cold water on his face after he was finished, but even when his skin was pink and his hair damp, curling over his forehead, it couldn’t make up for the absence of color everywhere else. Pushing the hair back into place just made it more obvious, but sometimes Kaidan figured he even liked it that way.
I remember this one time, both of us just lying there, when I’d actually convinced you to stay—and you kissed the first bit of gray I was getting right there at the temple. Pretty damn tender, all things considered, and for guys like us… Well, you always knew what it means.
Doing up the collar was easy stuff; Kaidan’s fingers knew the way without the rest of him thinking. But he was always thinking, always catching sight of himself out of the corner of his eye, like nothing anymore was a gradual change. Like each time he went to sleep at night, he woke up in a different place.
Maybe the worst part is watching myself grow old without you, being the only one to slow down. It’s not like you would’ve done that anyway—but a guy can dream, can’t he?
Sometimes, when Kaidan saw his own reflection, he thought he was looking at somebody else. And sometimes, he reached out to rub his thumb over the condensation on the glass, only to remind himself there was no one there but a tired guy wearing a tired face, and a streak of white that was there to stay.
this is beautiful and heartbreaking and of course i had to read it and reblog it while running late to the airport aldkajdla i love you shimmy aaaaHHHHHHHHHH!!!