Chapter Text
Saeran had left the bunker without any specific destination in mind, and somehow he ended up here. He was often passing through this shopping district on his way to Yoosung, but he never really paid attention to any of the make-up stores or fashion pop-ups scattered on the both sides of the wide pedestrian street.
He was lost in his thoughts, considering what to do next when a girl with the vibrant purple hair brought his attention, shooting him a questioning smile from behind the shop window. She must have thought he was staring at her because he had been standing for a while now, like a complete idiot, in front of what seemed to be hair and beauty salon. He watched with growing terror as the girl slowly put her broom down and jumped towards the door. He only got to catch a glimpse of the sign above the entrance promising “A complex, breathtaking metamorphosis with the best professionals!” before it was too late.
Oh, no, no. No.
His first instinct was to fly, but he couldn’t even move his finger.
“Gonna come inside or waiting for a special invitation?”
The next thing he knew, he was stiffly sitting in a leather styling chair. Massive light bulbs framing the mirror in front of him illuminated every imperfection and added dimension to the pimples he didn’t know he had. Heavy music seeped from loudspeakers, which wasn’t exactly unwelcome, but surprised him in the otherwise chic salon.
“So, what are we doing today?” the hair stylist asked, eyeing Saeran’s reflection and placing her palms tightly on his shoulders. The grasp made him even more nervous. He recognised the sparkle in her eye which together with her cheeky smile were to be blamed for his ending up here in the first place. This, and a mysterious quality about her which sparked his curiosity, compelling him to spend some time with her. He just couldn’t say “no.” But maybe it wasn’t too late to explain himself, talk his way out of this chair, and ask her out instead...
“I, umm... I was just accidentally passing by, and, I – “
She loomed over his head mischievously, squeezing him some more in the process.
“I know you want it. I’ve been seeing you around here a lot.”
“You have?” he asked, his voice higher than usual.
He mulled over her words in silence. Did this mean that she’d been observing him and maybe, possibly was slightly interested? Or, he was just getting ahead of himself, becoming way too hopeful after months of looking at Saeyoung and MC acting all lovey-dovey together.
Besides – even though he never consciously considered coming here – she might be right. After all, the reason why Saeran stormed out of the bunker today was because MC had mistaken him for Saeyoung. Again! This time she had sat close to him on the couch and described to him details of her day at work. These were small things, he knew it, but they made him feel like an intruder, as if he had stolen the intimate moments he shouldn’t have been a part of. MC had practically moved in with them and there was little he could do not to feel so oddly uncomfortable, unwanted at his own home.
His heart rate accelerated. He was here anyway, and maybe if the stylist got to know him...
“People often mistake me for my brother, so maybe do something,” he said, waving his hands in the air for the lack of precise ideas and words, “different.”
She took a step back and studied his reflection thoughtfully.“What does he look like?”
“Exactly the same,” he deadpanned.
Saeran should have come here a long time ago. She’d just cut his hair slightly, nothing too crazy, and never would he be called Saeyoung again.
“I like your cut, it suits you. I think we’ll leave it be,” she said, ruffling his hair. His eyes closed against his will on the contact. He agreed to whatever she was saying with a dreamy hum.
The girl turned his chair around in one abrupt movement, which brought him back to reality. Her face was intimidatingly close when she was scrutinizing his every feature with a deadly precision.
“I’m sure you’re not exactly like your brother.” He was convinced that now her eyes probed his very soul. “What are the differences? Name anything you can think of. Maybe his posture, taste in clothing – I don’t know – a particular way of being?
Saeran frowned, giving it a thought. “Well, he’s slightly higher and heavier than me and, erm, more tanned?” It struck him that it was, in fact, a list of things which made him insecure about his appearance. What made him different from his twin was always some lack, a little imperfection which allowed to tell the difference between the original and a fake.
He couldn’t quite remember any of Saeyoung’s clothes even though he saw him every day. “And he wears lots of reds and yellows, I think.”
His answers seemed to satisfy the girl. She nodded enthusiastically, her piercings jingling in her ears and her purple up-do getting more loose and messy. “And what about his temper?”
He didn’t quite know how this information would help in deciding his new look, but he couldn’t help but groan, “He’s loud and he’s everywhere!” The declaration earned him a beautiful giggle which slipped out of the girl’s mouth.
“I know what we’ll do,” she said, clasping her hands.
She busied herself with picking up products and preparing the dressing table. “Your skin has cool undertones, and we can do something really cool with it.” She laughed at her own joke and added, “I think that a more toned-down colour would work well with your character, too. Is that ok with you?”
She continued to explain her vision, and he didn’t understand a word she said, so he agreed to everything.
Normally, he was avoiding places where employees initiated small talk with their clients, but here, he didn’t mind it. He’d gladly stay here for hours just to listen to her chirping about weather and to answer her casual questions.
“So, what do you do for a living?” she asked, scrubbing his scalp in a small washbasin. She was washing something off, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He did listen to everything she said, but the technical terms meant next to nothing to him to begin with, and even if he managed to remember them for a while, their meaning quickly dissolved in lather when she massaged his head so pleasantly.
He remembered he should probably answer. “My brother and I work with computers for the C&R International.”
“Oh, I would never guess you’re a programmer.”
“No, not only that. I also tackle security systems, play with graphic design, and do some white hat hacking sometimes.”
“A man of many talents, then,” she said with a raised brow, and he blushed slightly.
What he was really good at was the less authorised kind of hacking, but it was something he kept a secret even from Saeyoung. After eight hours of toiling in a stiff white shirt for the heartless corporation, Saeran was rushing to his private computer which opened for him a whole new world in the dimness of his room. It all started when he had taken down the C&R site (the same one which he was running with his brother) as a revenge on his pain-in-the-ass boss, Jumin Han. But after he had tasted freedom and relished the adrenaline rush, he wanted more. When he started dedicating his free time to hacktivism (only smaller, local enterprises, really) he felt that his actions finally had impact, as opposed to his everyday job in the office. And he had lots of fun in the process.
“I think we’re done,” she said, drying her hands off with a towel.
Saeran slowly raised from the washbasin and followed her to his previous spot in front of the mirror.
“Wanna see yourself, handsome?” she asked, failing to smooth out her smirk. He had had a bad feeling already when she’d put in his hair something which “lifted the colour” in a rather nasty way, but she promised it would all look great when she would finish and this moment seemed to be now. So there was no reason to panic, right? That’s what he repeated to himself while nearing the mirror.
“Wow, that’s very – ” he stammered, finally seeing himself. Dripping strands of bright, canary yellow hair dampened his forehead and spirits. “– Different.”
His eyes were wide open in shock when questions rushed through his head. How’ll Saeyoung react? What will the others say? How long does it take for hair to grow out? Where’s the nearest shop selling hats? Will she at least agree to go out with him on a date?
Behind him, a suppressed giggle burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Puzzled, he turned to his stylist who held her hands up in apology.
“I’m sorry, I just had to! Sit back down, we’re not over yet.”
He hurried to his seat, almost tripping over his own legs. Whatever she was about to do next, wouldn’t be worse than this. Yellow hair paired with his golden eyes was a little too bright and striking for his liking.
He allowed himself for a small, unsure smile. At least she was having fun and it’s just hair, right?
“I usually manage to fulfil my clients’ expectations even if they don’t exactly know what they want,” she said while properly colouring his hair after what had only been –as she had explained – a round of bleaching to get rid of red. “So, don’t worry, I won’t let you leave until you’re totally in love.”
His face assumed shade resembling his natural hair colour. She didn’t have to try hard, he was almost certainly already neck-deep in love.
He cleared his throat. “How long have you been doing this?” He asked about this mainly because she was bouncing in excitement whenever she mentioned her work, and her happiness was addictive.
“Professionally? Only two months and something,” she said, looking down. Her answer gave him a start, but he figured that it was stupid to expect years of experience from someone who was clearly only around his age. It seemed to him that she knew what she was doing well enough. “But it’s been my passion forever. I started cutting my own hair when I was eight – needless to say, my mum wasn’t that impressed.” He chuckled. Her happiness was contagious, as well.
“But it’s not only hairdressing. I try my hand at make-up and fashion, too,” she continued. “I like anything which helps to express yourself better, match the outside to the inside... am I making any sense?”
He nodded, his movements limited as she held his hair between her long fingers, smearing some greyish paste.
“That’s enough about me. How’s it like? To have a twin?”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, frowning in attempt to put his feelings into words. “We live and work together, we share a group of friends. He really understands me and is always there for me.”
“Wow, I can only imagine, but it must be great to have someone you can really rely on. I don’t have anyone like that.” Her voice wavered.
He wished he could comfort her somehow, but patting her on her back was physically impossible at the moment , and no suitable words came to his mind.
“Yeah, I’m very lucky,” he said, instead. “But it gets intense at times. It’s just that, sometimes, it’s easy to forget I’m not supposed to be his backup copy.” Saeran snorted humourlessly. He didn’t tend to talk about it – even to Yoosung – yet for some reason this strange vulnerability came over him in a freaking hair salon.
It wasn’t a big deal, people got them wrong all the time (he did have an impression that Zen called them by the wrong name on purpose). Usually, even with MC, it could be brushed off as a simple slip, something which was annoying, but he got used to it in the last twenty one years. But there were also times when some acquaintance of his brother met Saeran for the first time and was disappointed on discovery that it was just him. Saeran wasn’t as funny, or outgoing, or laid-back. It felt like an unspoken accusation that if he dared to look like his brother, he should at least try to be more like him.
“I’m sure you have plenty to offer,” she said exceptionally quietly for her and hesitated before continuing, “You’re pretty charming on your own, if you ask me.”
Her words startled him and settled in his stomach like a warm and fuzzy cloud. Before he could come up with a coherent answer, she spoke again.
“I’ve just got an idea. Do you trust me?” She dived into a cabinet, and after a while of rummaging through the drawers, she picked up a jar with the dusky pink lid.
It couldn’t have passed more than two hours in her company, but if asked, Saeran would do anything for the girl. He trusted her with his life. He opted for simple: “yeah.”
Saeran had to admit, he didn’t look half bad. She was blow-drying and styling his now white hair which was turning pink here and there on the ends. It wasn’t necessary something he’d come up with, but he could easily live with it. It was thousand times better than bright yellow.
A contented smile warmed up the girl’s face as she observed his reaction. “Like I said before, I went for the cooler tones. I swapped warm-based red for silvery white, which works well with your complexion and brings out your features.” He was hypnotised by the timbre of her voice, her explanation evoking an image of the painter who describes his artistic process during the private view. “Pink is a tribute to your natural hair colour, but it’s its counterpart from the other side of the spectrum. It also makes the whole more fun; I’m sure you’re not as reserved and boring as people assume.” She winked.
He blinked, surprised. Was he really that talkative today, or was it her who could read him so easily?
Saeran missed her touch when she put the dryer away, and went to the other side of the parlour. She retrieved something from a metal cabinet, and came back slowly as if unsure of her actions.
“We usually don’t offer these to our casual clients, but I think they’ll really complete the look,” she said shyly, placing a small box, split into two compartments, on the dressing table. “I mean, your eyes are pretty as they are, and it’s obviously not for everyday use, but... I don’t know. Guess, life’s too short not to make any changes, so why not have some fun while it lasts?”
He opened the box curiously, and stared at the set of bluish contact lenses which seemed to look back at him. As he’d already discovered, there weren’t many things he would not try if she proposed, so he reached for the left contact without a second guess. In fact, his eyesight was getting even worse these days, and the only thing which kept him from visiting an optician was fear that he’d have to wear glasses and become virtually indistinguishable from his brother to the rest of the world. Possibly she might have just solved this problem too.
After what seemed to be an eternity of struggle to put the thing on, she offered to help. As she hovered over him, her focus betrayed by the tip of her tongue poking out, he tried to memorise her, sensing that their meeting was unavoidably coming to an end. He gazed at the soft arch of her lips, at her wild hair – now completely undone, at the black shape under her collarbone, barely sticking out of her t-shirt, which on a closer inspection seemed to be a tattoo... He couldn’t get enough of her.
“Could you sit straight and maybe leave staring at me for later? I’m trying not to poke your eye out,” she scolded, amused.
She managed to put on the contact lenses and stepped back from him too quickly for his liking.
Saeran glanced at his reflection and was overcome by the weirdest impression. The girl’s efforts paid off because overall he looked completely different to what he’d got used to in the lifetime of looking in the mirror and at his brother. At the same time, it really felt like him. He especially liked the blue lenses, which turned pale green on his eyes, and decided to buy prescription ones as soon as possible. But most importantly, he saw her beaming next to him, and this felt very right, as well.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes not leaving her reflection, “you’re really good at this.”
Saeran stopped feeling so light-hearted when he stood in front of the register, plucking at his, now considerably lighter, wallet. It was now or never.
“You know,” he started, and she leaned at the counter to hear him better. “I had fun today. I wouldn’t mind meeting with you again.”
“I was hoping you’d say this! We have to take you shopping! I have so many ideas!” she said, clutching his arms in what might be considered a hug if there was no counter between them.
He wasn’t sure if he succeeded in asking her out or making another appointment, but he was glad because either way he would get to see her again soon.