18 Months -- Michael Langdon x Reader

Part Twelve

You were so fucking hot. Your nails were scratching angry, red marks along your burning body, in an attempt to escape the itching heat. It was unbearable, but it was your own skin betraying you, so you couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried. Even as you walked along the crowded streets of Santa Monica, in search of icy salvation, your mind couldn't tear itself away from the heat. After having walked for miles upon miles, your legs finally gave out, forcing you to collapse against a nearby wall. Even the cool feeling of the bricks against your cheek did nothing to help.

"Woah there, you alright?" You looked up as a new voice approached you, your eyes squinting in pain. You couldn't see who was talking to you, your vision much too blurred to make out a full face, but he had bleached hair and a vibrant, purple ascot around his neck.

"N-no," you coughed, your lungs dry and in pain. "I don't-don't know where I-I am," you whispered. "Who, I am-am."

--

You watched in bored silence as Gallant clipped away at the blonde girl before him. His scissors glided through her strands effortlessly, the comb flicking away excess hair, until finally, with a gentle blow to the top of her head, he had finished. Grabbing a mirror from his vanity, he spun the girl around in her chair and handed her the mirror. "Fini! How much do you love?"

Coco analyzed herself in the hand-held mirror, a small smile on her face. "Am I the first one to get this cut? Because I'm working on becoming an Instagram influencer -and I refuse to show my full ass crack- so my hairstyle has to be on point." Gallant and yourself shared an identical eye roll at her words, while he handed her a clear cover.

"Who cares how many followers you have? You're a billionaire," Gallant said, after spraying her head with some last-minute hair product.

"That's my father's money, I need to make something of myself. You did! You're the next Chris McMillan," she explained, giving Gallant a pointed look.

"Mm..." he winced, taking a sip of his drink, before handing it to you. You took a grateful sip, eyeing Coco's hair.

Coco turned to you suddenly, crossing her arms. "What do you think? Is this Instagram worthy?"

"Anything by Gallant is Instagram worthy," you smiled, shooting your best friend a wink.

Roughly six months had passed since you'd collapsed outside of Gallant's store. When Gallant had found you, you were dressed in nothing but a tank top and a pair of sleep shorts, with an unfamiliar fox necklace clasped around your neck. So, he'd taken you in, dressed you in elite clothes, let you live with him, and slowly regain your bearings. You still had no recollection of your life before meeting Gallant and the only memory you managed to regain was your name, (Y/N) Goode. As the months passed, Gallant became your best friend and make-shift older brother. His grandma, Evie, had loved you since the moment you walked through her mansion door (sweat slicking your hair to your skin, arms a bloody mess, and nails caked in dry blood), and had given you everything you needed, becoming your makeshift 'Nana'. You'd even become Gallant's right hand at the salon.

Suddenly, the salon's doors chimed, and a girl -Mallory- came rushing over, breaking you from your train of thought. "Take a sip, so we can post," she ordered, holding up a green drink for Coco to drink from. "Cold-pressed juice is trending super hard right now, you're gonna get, like, 10,000 likes in ten minutes." Coco held the drink up to her lips, just enough so the tiniest bit would spill into her mouth.

As soon as the camera shutter went off, Coco was recoiling away from the drink with pure disgust. "Are you trying to fucking poison me?" she cried. "This tastes like turtle shit! You're supposed to be my personal assistant, Mallory. Do you even know me? Could you just go, and get me a macchiato so I can rinse this taste out of my mouth?" Mallory nodded quietly, and turned away from the three of you.