Work Text:
Hermann had a bad relationship with haircuts. His mother had cut his hair from four months after he was born up until four days before he left home. Like his mother, the haircuts were austere. The first was formed by placing a shallow bowl over his head and shaving the hair that fell underneath it, the subsequent cuts just followed the line. Ottilie gave identical haircuts to all of her children, only allowing Hermann’s sister to grow hers out when she was eight. Their proverbial belts were always kept tight, though they lived comfortably on his father’s diplomatic salary. Money was not to be spent on frivolous things and things which added only to vanity, like haircuts.
At university, Hermann prided himself on his presentation, wearing only suits to class, and was crestfallen when an acquaintance had noted his hair was getting shaggy. In the mirror above the shared sink in his dorm, Hermann took a freshly purchased pair of scissors to his hair. The first round of cutting was choppy and severely neglected the back of his head. The second round dealt with the back with perhaps too much vigor, the third round evened everything out nicely but fell much higher than Hermann’s usual cut. He found he liked the longer sides that had grown out more than his mother’s brutish shortness and didn’t shave them. From poor university student, Hermann graduated to poor assistant lecturer and continued to give himself the at home haircuts, still unable to spare the money for a hairstylist.
The day his advisor told him he got tenure in the mathematics faculty Hermann’s only celebration was an extra cigarette; he had been trying to quit. He had no one to celebrate with. He had had friends in the past, boyfriends even, they had all drifted and he found it hard to make an effort for something he felt no need to pursue. Perhaps Hermann was too highly strung to have that kind of relationship, or any kind of relationship.
Hermann needed nothing from any outside person, even relying on medical professionals for prescriptions and the like made him uncomfortable. He had always been comfortable in his loneliness, but lately it had begun to grate on him. He narrowed it to a single moment. He had been walking down the main street, he had just picked up groceries and was walking them back to his car. He must have passed the barber’s shop fifty times or more in his time living here, this time he looked in. There were two women, one cutting hair, the other talking to a customer at the cash register. Also, and this is the important part, there was a man cutting someone’s hair.
Attraction didn’t come naturally to Hermann. He thought of romance as a chess game, every move was to be strategic, including choosing your partner. His previous boyfriends were chosen as they were the most outstanding subject in certain field, one was a gifted statistician, another the most extravagant romantic, one was, Hermann will admit guiltily, the wealthiest. The concept of attraction, or even compatibility, was completely alien to him, so it took him very off guard when he found himself attracted to this barber.
Not the one to act on impulse, Hermann dragged his groceries home like nothing had ever happened. He, however, could not deny his thoughts when, two weeks later, he noticed his hair was shaggy. He braced himself on the sink of his studio apartment and held his scissors so tightly his knuckles bloomed white. As he brought them to his hairline, he saw in his mind the beautiful barber. Sighing he put the scissors away and went to bed.
The next day, he called early, before they opened. He called again, thankfully one of the women answered. Apparently, most of their customers were walk-ins anyway and told him to come down whenever he wanted. The store front was a large window with a decal border. Inside had light walls lined with mirrors with long marble look benches under them. Slate blue chairs were spaced at intervals, some with small wheelie stools behind them.
The male stylist sat on one off the stools, talking animatedly to one of the women and her clients. He spun on his chair when the door swinging open rang the bell above it. Newt bounced to the cash register. He was a diminutive man with spiked black hair and thick buddy holly glasses. He had a black t-shirt, skinny jeans, and the energy of an anthropomorphic red bull. He spoke quickly in a high-pitched voice, that to any other ears would be irritating, but to Hermann’s it sang sweetly.
With Hermann in the chair, Newt began to natter. He talked about the cruise he had been on recently. His hands moved just as quickly as his voice but with substantially more purpose. Little tufts of Hermann’s hair rained down onto the little cape Newt had put on him. Hermann’s favourite part was the little clippers that shaved tightly down around his neck and ears, and the gentle touch of Newt’s cold hand as it rested against his head.
“Did you want me to give it a wash?” Newt asked brushing his neck lightly with a thick brush and removing the cape. Hermann had spent the last half hour swinging between almost falling asleep and almost crying from the gentleness of Newt’s haircutting. He breathed deeply and said yes.
The haircut had been enough to make him cry, but the wash tore him to pieces. Newt’s fingers which were at once so deft were now also strong as they messaged the shampoo into his head. Hermann was reminded of the strength of his mother’s hands as they had washed him as a child. Where his mother was uncompromising, Newt was soft and mailable. Hermann had never felt so held and so aware of his loneliness at the same time. He stared up at the ceiling and tried to avoid looking at Newt.
Hermann never cut his own hair again. Eventually, when he moved into Newt’s apartment he stopped going to the barber’s and Newt cut his hair in their sink.