Chapter Text
Simon
“Do I look like I know anything about hair, Penny?” I asked, carding my knobby-knuckled hand through my messy tawny curls for emphasis.
“Of course not.” She stated dully, hands on her hips, black dry erase marker hanging between her fingers. “But, you’re my best friend, and are thus bound by the best friend honor code.”
“What honor code-“
“The Unspoken, but still intact, Best Friend Honor Code.” She muttered, looking over the list of names on the white board.
There was a list a mile long under the ‘Unable/Declined’ column, the ‘Accepted’ list was at a total of zero, and the ‘Maybe’ list held one name. My name.
“Simon, please. I’m desperate-“
“Obviously.”
“Mum’s out of town and Dad’s locked away in his office. I know it isn’t to you, but Prom is really important to me this year.”
“I know, because Micah is coming in from the States and is gonna be able to go-“
“Exactly! We’ve been dating for four years, this is my last prom, and I just want it to be…special. So please. I need you to do my hair.”
“Why me?” I whined, scratching at my Adam’s apple.
“I’ve already asked everyone else!” She whined back, pointing at the whiteboard with an accusatory dry erase marker.
I looked at her pleadingly, but she only matched my gaze ferociously behind her red-rimmed cat-eye glasses. After being my best friend for almost a decade, and my adoptive sister for three years of that, she had learned how to work me to get just what she wanted. With determination glistening in her eyes, she poked out her bottom lip, and blinked hard.
I sighed loudly, knowing defeat when I saw it. “…fine. I’ll get on YouTube after dinner and see what I can find.”
“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” She blurted, rushing over towards me to throw her arms around my middle and squeeze me tight. “I swear on everything you’re my platonic soulmate, Simon Snow.”
“You’re welcome, Pen.” I murmured, draping my long arms around her shoulders and burying my nose in her red curls.
That night, after dinner, I wrapped my arms around Penny’s shoulder and rested my chin in her hair. “Operation Penny’s Prom Hair is a go.”
“How original.” She snorted, swatting at my arm.
I smiled. “You know I’m not good with words.”
“That’s what you’ve got me for.” She hummed, rubbing her eyes under her glasses.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m off then, if you hear cursing, everything’s okay. Probably.”
I called a goodnight to the rest of our siblings as I set my course for the staircase. There’s a chorus of ‘Night Simon!’s that follow me up the stairs and into my room.
When I had first moved in with the Bunce’s, I hadn’t done much with my room. To be fair, I hadn’t had much to fill it with. But after three years, I had slowly collected posters and photos, a few books and trinkets. And I had even repainted a year after my adoption.
Now the walls were a glowing yellow, plastered from one to the other with posters of my favorite bands and movies. Over my desk in the corner, I had hung the photos that Penny and I had taken in a photo booth two years ago. We were in various stages of laughter, going from small, photo-ready smiles to big grins that sang with happiness.
I couldn't help but smile fondly at them, before I plucked my laptop up off of the desk, which was littered with discarded trial run papers for English class. I flopped back onto my bed. Sinking easily into the many pillows – Penny had gone through an embroidery phase when we were 13 – I grabbed one to prop my head up with.
Cracking my knuckles, I let my eyes flick over the stickers that were pasted over the manufacturer’s logo, before popping it open. The screen blazed to life, cutting through the darkness of my room and illuminating my face. Penny was always getting onto me about using electronics in the darkness – especially with how bright I keep the screens – but she’d have to get over it this one time. After all, it directly benefited her tremendously.
I exit out of the document that I had been editing earlier. I’m trying to perfect my sour cherry scones recipe. Penny says it’s already perfect. But I think it’s just because she’s tired of having to taste test.
With a sigh of resignation, I pull up Google, and type in the most basic search I can think of.
Simple Prom Hairstyle Tutorials
Almost immediately, I’m bombarded with a long page of results. There are at least four that boast simplicity (but the screen caps communicate otherwise) , two that use the word beautiful like a comma, and one that didn't even look like it was a hair tutorial.
I scrolled through them once, trying to weigh my assumed ability against the screen caps.
But then I realize I have no idea what my skill level is.
Taking a deep breath, I click the first video.
-
It’s been two hours.
I’m four pages deep into Google.
I don’t think these people know the true definition of easy or simple.
Penny came in to check on me about an hour ago before she went to bed, but I shooed her away before she could get a look at my screen and realize I was trying to figure out what a French braid is and how you do one, because Crowley, all the videos don’t help one bit.
Ten minutes after that, I vetoed the French braid idea, and prayed to every deity I knew that I would never be tested on my French braiding skills.
Now, I’ve lost all hope. It’s almost eleven, and I’m getting, no I am, tired. But I love Penny with everything I’ve got, so I decide to watch one more video.
The screen cap makes it look simple enough, it’s for something called a crown braid, and it looks nice on the girl. Doesn’t seem too hard either; so I clicked it and leaned back against my embroidered feminist pillows.
Suddenly, there are two people on my screen, happily greeting me with, “Hi!”
The one on the right is a girl with hair so pale and so blond it looks bleached. But I assume it’s natural, because all the bleached hair I’ve seen either has really dark roots, or has a yellow tint to it. She has a blinding grin too, and excitement thrummed through her, lighting up her eyes.
The one on the right is…oh.
He’s got chin length ink black hair and startling gray eyes that were complimented by his charcoal v-neck. His smile is smaller than his counterpart’s; more of a smirk really, with offset teeth and sharp K9s peeking through his plump, rosy lips. His jaw is sharp enough it looks like it could cut glass, and cheekbones to match.
Penny would call him pretty (“Boys can be pretty, Simon. Gendering a set of syllables that we use to explain the attractiveness of skin stretched across bones is wholly unnecessary.”)
“I’m Agatha, and this handsome devil is my best friend-“
“Baz. Pleasure.” He said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
What kind of name is Baz? I think begrudgingly.
“Welcome to GrimmLove, today we’re gonna do a beginning level hairstyle. It’s called the crown braid, pretty simple if you can follow along. Baz’s gonna do it on my hair, ‘cause obviously I’ve got the hair for it.”
Baz snorted, and his nose crinkled up adorably. “My hair’s so much better than yours, Ags. Only thing is you’ve got the length.” He said, pressing her hair between his fingers and affectionately tugging.
She laughed brightly, throwing her head back. “You’re just jealous, Pitch.”
He shook his head. “In your dreams, Wellbelove.”
“Alright, we’re getting off topic.” Agatha said, clapping her hands together.
“Right-o,” Baz nodded, hand reaching out of frame and coming back with a hair tie, which he rolled rolling onto his wrist.
He gathered his hair on top of his head and pulled it into a quick ponytail.
I had to pause the video, because for some reason I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. Must be the stress of how much is riding on this.
I focus on the background of the video as I tried to calm my breathing and my heart, which has for some reason started rapidly beating. The walls of the room they're in are painted stark white, with a horizontal pastel pink stripe centered in the middle. There are posters above the stripe, I think they're lacrosse players. My lacrosse theory is somewhat confirmed when I notice the lacrosse stick - do they have a formal name? - hanging on the wall to the left the posters. Medals decorate the right of the posters for all of the wall that's in the frame, but I can see snips of ribbon and medals if I squint, so I think they go farther.
Finally, I regain my breath and continue the video.
There’s a jump in the footage, and then Agatha is sitting on a plush stool in front of a vanity, and Baz is standing behind her. “I’m gonna do a few variations,” Baz explained to the camera as he grabbed a curling iron off the vanity.
“So, for this one, you curl the hair first. Makes the outcome a lot better.” He took a chunk of Agatha’s hair in his long, elegant fingers, and gracefully twirled it around the cylinder.
He repeated this motion a few more times, and each time I wondered how he hadn’t burned himself yet. Every time Penny would take the straightening iron to her hair (almost never) she would curse loudly the whole time, complaining about how she had clipped her ear, or pinched her skin.
Agatha handed Baz something small – a tiny, blue rubber band – and he swept the top layer back into a thin ponytail. His fingers are nimble as he assembles the braid, explaining each step with clarity and efficiency.
“You want to make the braid tight, and you want to braid it around their head. Don’t hold it out towards you and then try to wrap it around later, it’ll look exactly how you’re imagining it’ll look, and it’s atrocious.”
“Yeah, you’d know. May I simply say: Year Six, picture day?” Agatha grinned, her smile reflected in the vanity’s mirror.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the horrified look on his face, and I didn’t fail to notice that it looked like he pulled the braid a little tighter than necessary on the next go round.
“And now’s the tricky part,” The skin between his eyebrows creased as he swiped wispy strands of black hair out of his determined eyes.
“You want to loosen the braid, but not so much that all your hard work comes undone. But you don’t want it to look like a rope around your head either. You might want to practice this a couple times before you use it in the wild.” He laughed, it was deep and throaty, buzzing in his chest, with a twinge of poshness thrown in.
He plucked at the braid, methodically loosening it while still keeping a firm grip on the end so it didn’t unravel. He held his hand out to Agatha and she dropped a couple pins in his hand. He lodged them in his mouth as he wrapped the remaining part of the braid that hadn’t attached itself to Agatha’s head, and mumbled something through the bobby pins.
“He said that now you’re gonna secure the braid.” Agatha supplied helpfully.
“Spin.” He instructed her.
Dutifully, she picked herself up and spun around.
“Right, so now we’re gonna take some of Aggie’s bangs here,” He said, gently extracting a few thin strands of hair from the already loosened braid, and letting them frame her face.
They hung down to her collar bones, and I wasn’t entirely sure what their purpose was.
“Now we’re gonna take the curling iron,” He picked it up gently, and maneuvered it as not to burn her. “And very lightly wrap the hair around it. Don’t hold it there for long, just enough to get a slight curl to the hair.”
With expert movements, he quickly curled the hair, and let it fall back to its resting place. The video panned around Agatha’s head, making sure you could see every angle possible.
The display lurched again, and Baz and Agatha were back in their positions from the start of the video. “And that’s it. If you’re using this for a big event, i.e. Prom, a wedding, a party, anything, whoever’s doing your hair, whether it be yourself or someone else, definitely needs to test this out on you at least once before. Some hair has a harder time cooperating, some hair just doesn’t want to comply at all, and it’s just so much easier if you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Baz said, scratching at his pronounced Adam's apple, which bobbed up and down as he spoke.
“Thanks for watching! If you don't mind, click that little subscribe button down below to stay caught up with all the latest videos. Likes, shares, comments, and just about anything else are appreciated. See you lot next week!” Agatha said, and the screen went blank, before the suggested video tiles popped up.
Without dwelling on it too much, I scrolled down and pressed the small red subscribe box. I never thought I’d find myself in my current situation, and I figure anything could happen, so it doesn’t hurt to keep myself updated. The last thing I saw before powering down my computer was their subscriber count jump from twenty-nine to thirty.
Yawning loudly, I rested my laptop on top of my nightstand and rolled over, dragging a pillow with me. I didn’t even bother to take off my jeans or t-shirt, much less crawl under the covers.
My hand patted around for my phone, but I eventually extracted it from my back pocket. Quickly, I shot a text off to Penny before shutting my eyes.
From: Me
To: Bunce Cake
11:22pm
figured the hair thing out. I’ll run it by you in the morning
From: Bunce Cake
11:23pm
You are a Saint