Chapter Text
(TW// Hair cutting )
The first time he’d given them a haircut, it was back in the nineteen twenties. Anpac had just arrived in Italy, scared and confused, like it was the first time in their life they’d been forced to move anywhere. He’d remembered the feeling, back from when he was fourteen and he’d been arrested the first time for sending “threatening letters” to the shithead monarch reigning over him at the time(1). But the feeling faded, and he was too old to be surprised when this happened. So when they mentioned their hair getting too long, he was more than happy to help them with it. Felt natural to just keep doing it, when he saw how happy they were with the results.
Course, living in Italy hadn’t really lasted long after the twenties.
"Thank you for doing this again," AnPac said, their voice light and soft, like it always was. Wasn't like there was a mean bone in their body, not one that AnNih could ever pick up on. Nah, they rarely caused a fuss at all about most things. Cried when they were angry and told everyone to stop yelling and talk about it the way people should.
It wasn't a sentiment the Insurrectionist could sympathize with, but he appreciated it, and appreciated his partner, and knew when he has crossed a line with them.
"Not like it's a problem to me at all," He replied, "Never has been, and never will be, long as you're willing to let me do this for ya."
"I just don't want to be an imposition", they smiled, laughed a bit, as he got a towel, stood over them as he threw it around their neck.
"Nah, I like cutting people's hair, and you're the only one here who lets me near theirs."
"Well, you always do a good job of mine," they muttered while he adjusted it, hoping that he wouldn't get any of their hair in too much of a mess on the floor around them. They had, after all, just cleaned it after Anqueer went through another rough spell of things and didn't want to be cleaning up hair again. He was tired of the sink being clogged in this bathroom.
"Nah," he said, as Anpac tilted their head up, looked him in the eyes, "Just that I enable people to do stupid shit with their haircuts. Usually don't come back."
"You've never pushed me into doing anything like that."
"That's because you're allergic to cutting your hair in any way different than it normally is, sweetheart."
"Shush and get on with it," They hushed, pulling him down for a kiss before anything else happened, just a quick one, a kind one, the kind they always found excuses to give him, and would be finding excuses to give him until they were in their grave.
The clippers were stored under the sink in a cabinet, alongside the razors, sharpened by him, by hand, earlier that morning. He’d considered putting a lock on it before, just because he was living with a group of mentally ill queer people and was the only one who had a sense of impulse control around cutting hair specifically.
Even though he’d enabled his fair share of half-baked plans for haircuts, he’d always made sure they turned out fairly alright-looking, better than what would’ve happened if they were left to their own devices with a pair of kitchen scissors. Course, he’d never really had the privilege of going to a barber as a kid, his mamma always made sure his hair was cut straight and looked presentable, and he’d never taken to getting it cut by anyone but himself after that. “Why spend the money,” after all? So he just developed a good sense of picking up some haircut from someone off the street and memorizing it, going home and doing the best he could at it next time he needed a trim.
Anpac, though, raised up Christian and proper and always made sure to tip their hairdressers, didn’t have a sense of what they were doing with a pair of hair clippers. He was more than happy to do it himself, as soon as they mentioned needing to get it trimmed the first time they met, and the two of them have been doing it ever since.
It was a nice routine between the two of them now. Something he’d always be more than willing to do for them. And, Anpac would never admit it, but he at least suspected that they’d grow it out when they were apart, waiting for an excuse to visit him again and get it clipped. They’d dare to call it more of a ritual at this point.
“Okay, Pac, head straight, look forward,” He said, analyzing their hair, pushing their head forward as he tried to make it even enough to see what he was doing, tilted their head to the right, to the left, made sure everything was right and made sure he could see what he was doing, “How short do you want it?”
“Hm,” They mused, “Short. Like, short-short.”
“Buzzcut short?”
“Well, leave a bit of it.”
He chuckled to himself.
“Alright, alright doll,” He laughed, looking through his guards, “Is a number three alright?”
“Wuzzat mean.”
"Means we're gonna use it and see how you like it."
He was smiling in that way they always were concerned about, looked too excited to be holding a pair of scissors, but ignored that and asked, "how long is it going to be?"
"Decently long, we can cut it shorter, though, if you don't like it," he said, swinging around to their front, taking a quick look, fussing their hair a bit, swinging back around to make sure everything was alright, "Yeah, we'll leave the top bit and just give you a fade. It'll look cute on you."
"Promise?"
"It's the same haircut as it's been since I got an electric razor, and you always like it," he mused, before resting his head on their shoulder, "'less you wanna change of pace, of course."
"No, no, do the same one as you always do."
"Yes chef," he barked, pushing the guard onto the blade and turning it on, “We’ll start whenever you’re ready.”
They nodded, lightly, muttered an, “alright, yes, get on with it.”
“Quit moving,” He begged, “C’mon, you gotta sit still if you want it to look alright, baby.”
“Sorry, sorry,” they muttered.
“You’re ready?”
“Yes.”
“You ain’t gonna move?”
“Don’belikethat.”
He laughed, quietly, to himself, and they heard the quiet buzzing of the razor behind them and felt it make contact with their hairline, buzzing upwards, cleaning up their neckline, before moving up to their head. Felt his hands on their head to stabilize them as locks of their hair fell onto their shoulders, in little curls and locks that caught behind the towel a bit, glad most of it avoided falling into their shirt.
“I’m still surprised you aren’t just lighting my head on fire and burning off bits.”
“Come on, I’m not that bad.”
“You spent an hour yesterday throwing lit matches in a puddle outside.”
“A puddle ain’t a person’s head.”
People tended to be surprised by how steady his hands were, or how calm he could be when moments like this necessitated it, but Anpac had seen it a thousand times or so. How careful he was, when it came to fine motor skills. Out of all the people they would trust to cut their hair, the person they’d seen carefully wire together and assemble a hundred or so bombs in their time together would be the first on their list. Same general dexterity and carefulness required anyways. They knew he wasn’t destructive for the sake of it, most days anyways, knew he wasn’t completely insane, whatever insanity really meant. Still, some points could be made about AnNih’s usual temperament.
They chided him, playfully, a smile on their face the whole way through, “You’ve wasted how many lighters just by playing with them?”
“Which is why I’m investing in a Zippo lighter next,” He mumbled, “I can be respectful.”
“Where are you going to get money for a Zippo lighter?”
“I lost my last one. I wanna replace it. I need something to fidget with and lighter fluid is something I’ve got in bulk.”
They quirked an eyebrow, not fond of being reminded of the fact that he tended to hide explosive and flammable chemicals around their basement.
“Doesn’t mean you just get to use up Anqueer’s and Ancom’s lighters,” they protested.
“Shush up, doll, stop talkin’, I gotta focus.”
“Maybe we should just get you a piece of flint and steel like Anprim’s got.”
“I said shush, you’ll end up with a bald spot.”
They pulled their head forward to laugh a bit, just hardly avoiding nicking themselves on the blades. He smiled, rested an elbow on the back of the chair to lean close to Anpac before muttering “You know I could shut this razor off and leave you like this.”
“No, no, I can be quiet,” They said, recoiling and trying to shove him, some playfulness about them that rarely came out in front of other people, “I just - don’t get a lot of time alone with you, I like hearing from you.”
He paused, a quiet sadness in his voice.
“You get to see me every day.”
They looked into his eyes, black as pitch, and their faces seemed to drop at the same time.
“I know, it’s just - never alone. We’ve been together longer than anyone here and I can never get a moment to speak with you when it’s quiet. You’re always off talking to everyone else.”
“I’d like to take you out on a date, just that -”
“I know, I know, we’re all supposed to go on dates together,” they said, “I still wish I got to see you alone more often.”
“I still do love you,” he whispered, in a rare moment of absolute sincerity, “I’ve known you the longest of anyone here. I care about you more’n anyone else.”
“What about Ancom?”
“I didn’t really know Ancom before this,” He elaborated, “We just lived together for a while in Italy before you showed up. Us two’ve been sleeping together in the same bed since the 20s.”
They looked worried about something. He knew they’d say something to him if they needed it, though. He opted to lean into their neck, mutter a “let’s get on with this,” before kissing them just below their jaw.
“You always go for my neck.”
“Tha’s ‘cause you like it.”
He turned the razor on again, got his fingers back in their hair, something nice to make sure they were reassured he was still there, still behind them. They smiled at themselves in the mirror, and he smiled when he noticed, kept sweeping the razor through their hair, switched out the guard a few times until he arrived at something he was happy with.
He looked at Anpac in the mirror, made sure everything looked alright before taking his hand, sticking it in their hair and scratching their scalp, messing up their hair a bit, making it a bit scrappier in the way his usually was, as they leaned into it.
“Yer done,” He said, “Do y’like it?”
They observed themselves in the mirror, looked up at him and nodded.
He moved to take the towel off from around their neck.
“You know,” they said, “We always could hang out. Out of the house, I mean. Go somewhere together.”
He smiled, “Pac, are you suggesting that we go on a date?”
“Notlikeadate,” they whined, “I’m not saying we break the rules. Just - hang out. Get out of the house for a while. Just us for a few hours again. Maybe - we have a campfire with the rest of the commune later today, how about after that? Or before that. Just go on a walk or something.”
His smile widened, still, and he leaned down and kissed them, in a kiss that tasted like cigarettes and lighter fluid and the hashbrowns and energy drinks he had that morning, a taste very familiar to them, and he said.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”