just a trim

It was at exactly six o clock that he met him. He was always on time, everywhere he went. Never early, never ever ever late. Being late was almost unthinkable. A crime. A sin. So it was at exactly six, on the dot, when he walked into the salon.

Most men in the area went to the barber shop down the street, but Dan liked it here, with the soft smells of hair cream and the hot girls. And then there was Phil Lester.

When he walked in he was greeted by a tall man with dark black hair and glasses slipping slightly down his nose. "I'm Phil, I'll be your stylist today," he said, reaching out to shake Dan's hand. "I'm Dan," Dan croaked out. Phil's skin was warm and soft and he held Dan's gaze firmly. "What are we doing with your hair?" Phil asked, inspecting the brown mess that Dan called his fringe. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking just a trim," Dan replied, feeling his head self consciously. "Just a trim, huh?" Phil put a hand on his hip. "I think we can do something with that," he waved his finger at Dan and winked. "Trust me, I'm an expert. Years of school didn't prepare me for just a trim." He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a pair of scissors, and motioned to an empty black chair.

"Sit down, we'll wash your hair first." Dan sat and Phil turned on the hot water. "Ow," Dan complained at the burning water. "Shut it. I'm the pro here, I know what I'm doing." Dan sighed. Phil massaged shampoo into his hair. "How's this?" He asked, running his fingers through Dan's locks. It sent shivers down Dan's spine. "Perfect," he responded. "Good," Phil said, moving swiftly and shampooing Dan's entire scalp. He rinsed it off and added conditioner, being slightly more careful and massaging his hair like the liked the feel of it. Maybe he did. Who knows.

"Ready?" Phil asked, and Dan tried to restrain from going to dirty places in his head. Although Phil was hot as hell and even though he had had a boyfriend or two before, Phil felt different. There was something about him, something beyond his looks, that made Dan want to come back here every day.

"Yeah," Dan replied, and Phil grabbed his scissors. "So what do you do for a living?" Phil asked as he began to snip at the sides of Dan's hair. "I mean I'm obviously a hair stylist. How about you? What're you into? It's not every day I get a client like you." "Like what?" "Nevermind." Dan sat for a moment, wondering what he could mean, before answering. "I work at a cafe," he said, aware that to this guy that probably seemed like a lame life. But the cafe felt like home to him and the regular customers always tipped well. At least well enough that he could afford a fairly decent apartment. "Maybe I'll stop in sometime," Phil responded, losing his focus for a second and looking at Dan in the mirror. He was twirling a strand of hair unconsciously. Then he shook his head and got back to work.

One hour, a pile of hair on the floor, and a lot of Phil running his fingers through Dan's hair later, he was finally finished. Dan looked at himself in the mirror. It didn't look like him, this guy was confident and strong and...well handsome. Phil stood behind him, carefully brushing back a few strands of hair that had fallen in Dan's eye. "A job well done," he commented. Dan could only nod. "You look hot." Dan felt his stomach clench. Hot? Him? The shy cliche who worked at a cafe? This guy, this beautiful, handsome guy, called him hot? "Oh calm yourself everyone in the world can tell you're gay with one look, quit acting like you're not." The butterflies in Dan's stomach fluttered more and more until he thought he'd lift off the ground himself. "Bisexual...anyway drop by the cafe sometime, I'll make you something on the house," Dan finally said, standing and turning to thank Phil. "Drop by here anytime and I'll trim your hair. No charge." He winked and nodded.

And then he disappeared around the racks of shampoo and hair product to go meet another client. And just like that, Dan was alone again.

He'd moved to London from Manchester after the incident. It hurt too much to live in a world where his dead friend wasn't. So he moved to start a new life. And after the suicide, he promised himself he would never make friends again. It hurt too much when you lost them.