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Hermann hates going to the barber. The pungent hairspray that burns his nostrils, the eagerness of hairdressers’ attempts to engage him in small talk, the control he cedes in letting another person decide his appearance…it’s decidedly not for him.
But it’s been nearly two months since Hermann has last cut his hair and he cannot stand how unprofessional it looks. His students have even started spending the class period tallying the number of times Dr. Gottlieb has to brush his hair out of his eyes -- instead of, perhaps, listening to his lecture.
So Hermann steps into Pan Pacific Cuts with a sigh, clinging to the coupon Mako gave him. At first glance, it seems that she was right in her glowing assessment of the place. The lights are kind against Hermann’s eyes and while it certainly smells of product, it’s the light, fruity kind that Hermann cannot help sniff the air for.
He’s just starting to think that this trip may be worth the trouble when the man at the front desk snorts, “Shit, you picked the right time to come in, dude. Another day and your hair might have become sentient and taken over your entire face.”
The nerve of some people- Hermann is a paying customer! He turns away from the display of hair products, fully intending to ask for this man’s manager, but his breath catches in his throat before he can say a word.
The man –- Newt, as his name-tag proclaims him to be -– leans over the desk, chin in hand as he sends Hermann the kind of cocky smirk that Hermann normally expects from his freshmen, not from grown men.
Upon examining Newt further, Hermann decides that the other man is undeniably trying too hard: skinny jeans just a size too skinny, two sleeves of tattoos, a lip piercing, a streak of dye in his hair -– it’s almost painful. Hermann has known the man for perhaps ten seconds and already he finds him completely obnoxious.
And yet...despite this fact, Newt is infuriatingly Hermann’s type. The type that Hermann will never admit, even to himself, that he has.
“At least my hair is somewhat professional,” Hermann manages to retort, eyeing the bleach-white stripe in Newt’s hair with what he tells himself is distaste.
Newt’s grin only widens. “Trust me, that mop on your head is anything but professional. When was the last time you got your hair cut professionally -– as in by someone like me, a professional?”
Newt is teasing him, Hermann realizes. And possibly flirting with him? Oh God, has it really been so long that Hermann cannot tell the difference?
Hermann wants to storm out of the shop without another word, but instead he finds himself admitting, “Ah…perhaps ten years?”
Newt’s jaw drops. “Okay, I was joking before, but this is now officially an emergency. Just chill out and take a seat, uh…”
“Dr. Gottlieb,” Hermann says tightly, deciding not to take offense to Newt’s statement -– because Hermann's hair really is a bit of a disaster zone right now.
“Doctor, huh? Looks like we’re both professionals then,” Newt says, shooing him into one of the chairs. He drapes an apron over Hermann with practiced ease.
Hermann sighs. Will he really have to listen to this chatter the entire time? Perhaps he shouldn't have come here...but he's come this far, surely he can suffer through a fifteen minute haircut. “Just any sort of cut will do, as long as it's-” Hermann begins, before Newt shushes him.
“I want to look at your hair for a minute,” Newt says. Hermann is so baffled by the idea of anyone wishing to do so -– even a paid professional, for Hermann’s previous hairdressers had simply wanted to cut his hair and get him out the door -– that he keeps silent.
Newt sort of…’plays’ is the word Hermann wants to think, but ‘examines’ is closer to the truth -- with Hermann’s hair for awhile. Hermann watches Newt’s face in the mirror as the other man runs a long strand of Hermann's hair between his fingers. Newt’s nose wrinkles in concentration before his entire face lights up in a way that’s frankly adorable.
Hermann scowls at himself for thinking as much. Please don't pick up the miscreant who insulted you at a barber shop, he chides himself. You have higher standards than that.
“Oh!” Newt exclaims, running his hands through Hermann's hair again. “Oh, I see what you were doing here, Gottlieb. Very cool. Kind of a DIY Alan Turing undercut sort of deal? Except way too DIY, but yeah, I like the idea.”
“Dr. Gottlieb,” Hermann corrects. “And, er…yes, actually. You know Turing?” The unspoken question being, you know him well enough to recognize an attempt at his haircut?
“Sure,” Newt shrugs. “I saw a documentary about him at a festival earlier this year. Made by some local university kids I guess? Did you see it? What am I talking about; obviously you saw it, you've got the guy's haircut.”
Hermann thinks that this is small talk. But it doesn’t feel like small talk. It's too intriguing, too natural, too easy. Words slip off of Hermann’s tongue before he can even take a minute to consider their conversational value. “I, ah…I was in it actually,” he says. He looks at his image in the mirror and frowns at his blushing cheeks. Stop that.
“No shit!” Newt says, turning the chair around so that he's peering at Hermann. And, drat it all, Hermann can feel his blush spreading to the rest of his face and chest.
“Oh yeah, you were one of the mathematicians they interviewed. Didn’t recognize you without cute, short hair,” Newt says with a wink, turning the chair back before Hermann can begin to think of how to respond to that.
Cute? he mouths to himself, snapping his mouth shut after he does so. He hopes Newt didn't notice the motion. Though perhaps Newt did, for the hairdresser's fingers skim lightly at the tips of Hermann’s burning ears before playing once more at his hair. Hermann aches for the touch to continue past that fleeting second, for the continued relief of Newt’s cool skin against his flushed ears. He pictures Newt running a light touch down his ears again and again, which is probably why, when Newt asks, “You want a scalp massage?” what comes out of Hermann’s mouth is an undignified, squeaked, “Excuse me?”
Newt raises an eyebrow, but his smile hasn’t dissipated in the least. If anything, it’s widened. “They come free with the haircut on Fridays? You don’t have to have one if you don’t want, but a lot of people like how they feel.”
Hermann wars with himself for a moment, weighing how much he wants one against the fact that he wants one a little bit too much. But at last, he sighs and says, “Very well.” He’s pleased with how nonchalant -– or at least non-prepubescent –- his response sounds.
“Cool,” Newt says, squirting some oil onto his palm before digging his the tips of his fingers into Hermann’s scalp.
The sound Hermann has to repress is nearly indecent –- but it’s been ages since anyone’s touched him like this. Hermann tends to project an aura of don’t you dare touch me, which normally suits him just fine, but he's missed touches like this, these casual brushes of skin against skin. Not for some time has anyone felt close enough to Hermann to touch him with such confidence.
Newt seems unaware of the effect he's having on Hermann. He's likely too focused on the sound of his own voice, as he hasn't stopped speaking to Hermann since the massage began. Hermann cannot bring himself to mind. He even finds himself interested in Newt's DVR full of nature documentaries, in his tattoos, in his bloody pet snake for crying out loud. Though, Hermann is willing to listen to the man talk about almost anything if it means Newt will keep kneading his scalp like that.
For Newt’s touch is completely opposite his brash manner. His fingers work tenderly at Hermann’s head, working careful circles underneath his hair. Hermann's spine melts like butter in response. He actually finds himself slouching into the chair as Newt’s touch soothes away the tension Hermann’s been carrying since the term began. It’s almost…sweet.
Well. Perhaps Newt’s touch is not entirely opposite his manner.
“Am I good, or am I fucking good?” Newt says. His fingers rub small circles behind Hermann's ears and it's as if Newt's activated a switch in him, slowly draining the pressure in Hermann's head until he feels like he's floating.
“Mmm. Adequate, I suppose,” Hermann murmurs, eyes slipping shut.
Newt’s fingers still for a moment, still threaded through Hermann’s hair, before he chuckles to himself. “You are just gone, man. You need more scalp massages in your life.”
“Is that an offer?” Hermann says. His horrendous embarrassment cuts through the blissful haze surrounding his brain. Did he actually just say that?
Newt only laughs again -- the noise is scratchy and high-pitched, but Hermann hears it and is in love. Or at least in lust. Fuck, he thinks to himself. I just wanted a haircut.
“Maybe,” Newt says, smiling at Hermann’s image in the mirror. “Just come back and see me on a Friday sometime, promise?”
“I…” Hermann clears his throat. “Yes, of course.”
“Good,” Newt says. “Now, I think we could both do this all day, but you probably have better things to do than sit in this chair on a Friday afternoon.”
Not…really, Hermann thinks. Nothing better than this. He listens to Newt hum as the other man scrambles to the other side of the room to gather his tools, his grace apparently gone now that his hands aren't touching Hermann’s head.
“Is that…?” Hermann frowns. “Is that The Replacements?”
Newt stops in his tracks, that already familiar smirk gracing his face. He quickly dumps his scissors onto the counter so that he can put his hands to his hips. "Dr. Gottlieb, you are so not the stuffy professor you’re pretending to be,” he teases.
“I most assuredly am,” Hermann sniffs. "I cannot help it if my TA is infatuated with Paul Westerberg -- he has listened to nothing else for the past week.”
“Mmhm,” Newt says. “Whatever, man. Okay, I know exactly what I’m going to do with your hair. Holy shit, I’m so excited.” The man actually jumps up and down, and Hermann cannot help but laugh at the action. “Do you mind if it’s a surprise?” Newt asks.
Hermann hates surprises, but…he supposes he can make an exception this once. “If it will get you to hurry up and cut my hair, you may do whatever you like,” he says, but cannot help the smile that plays at his lips.
Hermann lets his eyes close as Newt runs his fingers through his hair once more. The other man's humming is soon complemented by the soft snipe of his scissors at work. Both sounds are strangely soothing to Hermann, though he immediately tenses when, a short while later, the buzz of a razor joins the mix.
Newt seems to sense his sudden anxiety and thankfully stops what he's doing immediately. Hermann hears the razor being turned off and soon soothing fingertips are being rubbed into his scalp. "Is the razor okay?" Newt asks.
Hermann hesitates, but...hell, the end result can hardly look worse than his DIY haircuts, can it? He nods, and seconds later Newt's hands continue their clever work at Hermann's hair.
All too soon, Newt is brushing the stray hairs off of Hermann's shoulders and proclaiming the haircut to be a work of art. Newt's deft fingers quickly finish smoothing crisp, apple-scented product through his hair, and Hermann mourns the loss. He wants to imagine that Newt’s fingers linger slightly before pulling away, but, well...the man is probably just double-checking his work. Nothing worth getting his hopes up over.
“Alright, dude, open your eyes and get ready to love me,” Newt says.
Too late, Hermann thinks dryly, before daring to glance at his reflection. His mouth falls open slightly -- he hardly recognizes himself. His scraggly fringe is no longer hanging over his eyes, his disaster of cowlick is no longer quite so prominent. Instead his hair is neatly parted to one side, soft and downy-looking as it deigns to sit flat on his head. His mess of an overgrown Alan Turing haircut has been transformed into something that actually resembles an Alan Turing haircut. Well…almost resembles.
“You…gave me an undercut,” Hermann says, placing a hand to the side of his head. The soft fuzz of hair feels exquisite against his fingertips. Hermann himself has never quite had the nerve to pick up a razor and attempt it. “It’s a bit more severe than his,” he points out.
Newt shrugs, but his fingers drum nervously against the back of Hermann’s seat. “Yeah, well. I had to put a bit of rock and roll in there, didn’t I? Now Dr. Gottlieb’s hair is finally as punk rock as the man himself.”
“Hermann.”
“Hmm?”
“My name,” Hermann stammers. “My name is Hermann.”
“Oh. Nice to meet you, Hermann,” Newt says, brushing his hand across Hermann’s hair once more. “So, do you like it, or do I have to give you your money back? Because Pentecost really isn’t going to like it if you demand a refund or leave a bad Yelp review or whatever-”
“I love it,” Hermann says softly. He touches the sides of his hair once more and then presses his fingers to his nose, closing his eyes at the fruity smell. “Thank you, Newt.”
"No problem," Newt says, extending a hand to help Hermann to his feet. Their shoulders brush against each other as they walk back to the front desk and Hermann wonders if he wasn't imagining Newt's lingering fingers after all. With this in mind, Hermann bravely strokes his finger lightly against Newt’s as he pays. Perhaps it is too light a touch though, as he's not sure whether Newt notices.
“Make sure you come back next time you need a haircut,” Newt says. “I think I’d cry if you let my masterpiece go to waste by trying to do it yourself again.”
“A masterpiece, Newt?” Hermann scoffs, allowing himself to tease the hairdresser. Hermann doesn’t usually tease people, and he hopes he's doing it correctly -- this is somewhat new for him. Though it's definitely not unpleasant. “I wouldn’t say that -– if only because I doubt your ego needs the boost.”
“Psh, you’ve never looked so hot, Hermann -– you should be thanking me. People will be lining up halfway across the block to get a date with that nerdy professor with the rocking Turing cut,” Newt says. He bites his lip, his teeth worrying slightly at the ring there. It has to be deliberate. Or, at least, that’s what Hermann tells himself as he leans against the desk and flashes Newt a quick smile.
“I don’t suppose…one of them would be you?” he ventures.
“Oh Jesus -– finally,” Newt says, exhaling quickly in relief. “I thought you were just ignoring my flirting or something. Yeah, one of them would definitely be me, Hermann. I would definitely be interested in going on a date with you. Can you meet me here next Friday? Free scalp massages, you know.”
Newt’s grin is definitely as cocky as it was when Hermann had first come in the shop -– funny, Hermann doesn’t feel quite as bothered by it now.
“It’s a date,” Hermann says, shyly looking down at their hands as Newt threads their fingers together.
“Awesome. So,” Newt says, rubbing his thumb across Hermann’s palm, "out of professional curiosity, I have to ask. First professional haircut in ten years: how was it?”
Entirely worth it, Hermann thinks, squeezing Newt’s fingers before letting the other man pull them away in order to put Hermann’s number in his phone.