Work Text:
“And, you’re all done,” Luke smiles at the little girl sitting in front of him, who can barely contain her squeals of excitement. “Just sit still for me, okay? Just a few minutes, so it can dry up nicely. Tell me, what’s your favourite song? I’ll have them play it.”
“Umm,” she stops to think, a runaway auburn curl swinging in front of her eyes under the air of the fan beside them. “Probably Let It Go?” she says. “From Frozen?”
Luke wants to groan. Not fucking Let It Go again. That movie is like, more than six years old! Why are kids still into it? Why don’t they choose to fall in love with a more sensible animated movie, like… like Inside Out, maybe? Luke loves Inside Out, probably a little too much for a twenty-five year old man. He doesn’t talk about it, but that’s there. Calum knows about it, and despite all his teasing, he knows Calum loves it just as much as he does, probably even more. He sighs and goes over to where his phone is connected to the speakers in the salon, and reluctantly plays Let it Go.
He cringes as the all-too-familiar opening piano bars consume the room, but his annoyance is quelled slightly when he hears the girl joyfully singing along. He remembers the excitement of having his nails painted for the first time. The only difference is, he had his own brother do it for him. The same brother whose salon he works at now, full-time. The little girl, Julie, thanks him with a delighted smile before adding that he has the prettiest hair and eyes she’s ever seen. Luke chuckles and hands her a chocolate bar he’s been hiding from his brother Jack and saving for himself. When she leaves, he takes a look at himself in the mirror, his blonde curls pulled back into a little ponytail, and his gelled orange nails gleaming against the bright lights around him. He doesn’t look too shabby. And he gives off the stylist vibe. Compliment accepted.
“Luke!” He’s right in the middle of chowing down his burrito in a corner, when he hears Jack call for him. Ugh. It’s too bad that his brother just happens to be his boss, too. It’s not like he’s bossed him around all his childhood too, you know. Just twenty five years of being the youngest of three brothers. Nothing too special.
"What is it?" He calls back, mouth half-full of kidney beans and guacamole.
"Customer!" Jack yells. "We’re short staffed, and Calum's on holiday today!"
"I'm on my lunch break!" Luke groans, standing up to go upto the reception and negotiate his way out of this. He makes his way to the desk to find Jack talking to a tall man with messy blonde hair, cut in a choppy fringe that hangs down the right side of his face, almost covering his bright, lively, almost electric-like green eyes, intently taking in every detail of the place. Jack just sighs when he sees Luke, but Luke’s not paying attention. He’s looking at the man standing in front of him, lazily leaning against the reception desk, softly humming some tune to himself.
“It’s important, Luke,” Jack insists, reaching out to pull the burrito away from Luke’s hands.
“Hey!” Luke protests. “I’ve given four haircuts and painted five people’s nails, not to mention heard Let It Go three times since this morning! My lunch break is supposed to be one o’clock, Jack, it’s three now. Give me fifteen minutes, that’s the bare minimum.”
Jack frowns. “Luke, you probably eat six meals a day. This is an important appointment, and I need you to get to work immediately. Do you understand?”
“Just because I’m your brother doesn’t mean you get to overwork me like this,” Luke pouts. “I’m still an employee, and I can sue you for exploitation of employees.”
“Alright, Lukey, you do what you want,” his brother laughs. “First, you attend to the customer. Then, I’ll buy you lunch. Sounds fair?”
“Fuck you,” Luke shoots a middle finger at his brother before studying the man beside him. He’s deathly pale, like he hasn’t ever stepped out of his room before this. Like your typical emo boy who sits around in his room all day, playing video games and listening to punk music. He chuckles softly, catching a black earring dangling from one ear. And those lips. So pink. They look so soft, and perfectly bow shaped, sitting amidst the stubble dusting his face, they look so delicate. So petite. They look pinker thanks to his pale complexion, and it’s so fucking pretty. Luke would really like to imagine kissing them, but he’s a customer. Big no-no.
“Professional language, please, Lucas,” Jack says, sternly. “Now that’s enough of your bullshit. Get to work.” He smiles sweetly at the customer, and asks him to take a seat. Luke flips Jack off one last time before turning to the customer. The incredibly attractive customer.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, sheepishly. “I’m Luke.”
The man laughs. He has a very light, airy voice. It’s not too deep, but it’s not too high-pitched either. Just perfect. The sound reminds Luke of a wind chime on a summer evening, when he’s stretched out in the backyard with a beer and a good book.
“That’s alright, Luke,” he smiles, and Luke watches as that petite mouth stretches slightly in a shy smile. It’s not much of a smile, just a subtle upturning of his lips, but it’s so full of mirth, so innocent, and so warm. “I’m Michael. And I hope you won’t send me home bald because I’m responsible for you starving today.”
Luke snorts. "Don't worry, I won't," he stands behind a salon chair, gesturing for Michael to sit in it. "It's probably Jack I'll be sending home bald sometime soon. Anyways, what can I do for you?"
"If you could somehow tame this ridiculous fringe of mine, that'd be a relief," Michael says, holding his blonde fringe between his fingers and allowing it to flop back against his face. "It's grown way too long."
"Alright, then," Luke reaches for the cape and fastens it around Michael's shoulders. "Anything else?"
"If we have the time, maybe you could help out with my nails, too? I need to get them to look decent, and fool the people into believing that I don't bite them on a near-daily basis."
"Time? Am I on a deadline?"
Michael puckers his lips and brings them up to his nose, exhaling slowly. It's probably what he does when he's put in a spot, or something. It's extremely adorable, and Luke needs to get a grip.
"Kind of," he admits. "Can you get both done in half an hour?"
"Half an hour?" Luke can't believe his ears. He works best leisurely. You hurry him up, you might as well go home bald. "You must be fucking delusional! I'm a stylist, not a magician!"
"I mean, you already look like an angel," Michael mumbles, and Luke pretends not to have heard that. His cheeks don't lie though, turning a bashful pink. Luke busies himself in cleaning the scissors and nearly snips his finger off as he does so.
Jeez, Luke, get a fucking grip, he tells himself.
"So- uh, why the deadline?" He asks, spraying Michael's hair and holding in a laugh as he watches him flinch violently as the water hits his face. Like a cat. Yes, that's it. That's what Michael reminds Luke of. This adorable cat with blonde fur and bright, intelligent green eyes that'll always look at you teasingly, but will never protest if you take it into your arms. And oh, Lord, Luke longs to take Michael into his arms.
"I have a show tonight," Michael says, blowing raspberries trying to get the water out of his lips. "And I was supposed to get all this done ages ago, but I'm a lazy fucker so sue me."
"What kind of show?" Luke asks, crouching to Michael's height as he gets a good look at what he's working with. To be fair, he's supposed to be looking at him. Well, his hair. Not his sparkling emerald eyes, or that tiny, round snub nose that sits there perfectly in the middle of that precious face, just adding to his loveliness.
"Oh, I'm- I'm a singer. I have a gig tonight."
Wow. Cute guy who is possibly flirting with Luke is a singer? Holy crap.
"Cool," he hums, comb between his lips as he runs Michael's hair between his fingers. It's kind of rough to the touch, like he doesn't maintain it enough. Luke wants to suggest a hair spa, so that Michael doesn't go bald by the time he's thirty (Luke assumes he's twenty something at the moment) and so that Luke can spend a whole morning, or afternoon with his hands in the cute guy's hair. "Where is the gig? Maybe I can come watch, if you don't mind?"
Too soon? Maybe. But he's actually curious to see Michael sing. He wonders what kind of music he makes. By looking at him, Luke gets the sad boy emo-punk kind of vibe, but he's not sure if a solo artist can even make emo punk music all by himself.
"Oh, Annandale," Michael leans back in his chair, guiding a hand out of the cape to itch his nose. "Seven o'clock. I'd love to see you there, if you can make it."
"I'm planning on making it. That is, if Jack doesn't put me on cleanup after my shift is up. If he does, I'm going to kill him in his sleep."
Luke smiles at Michael's reflection in the mirror, which smiles back at him a little wider this time. A little brighter. And these cute, dainty teeth come out on display, the front teeth are slightly bigger than the rest, slightly bunny teeth-y, except they're not ugly. They make him look even cuter, if that's possible. Or Michael's face and his low, lazy drawl is messing with Luke's head. Definitely messing with Luke's head.
"Anyway, how short do you want me to trim it?" he says, holding up Michael’s fringe for him to see. “I’d say about two inches, if you still want it to fall over your eyes, and it won’t look shabby.”
“If you say so, Luke,” Michael shrugs. “I just don’t want to look homeless on stage, that’s all. You’re the boss, you do what feels right. I’m just going to sit here and talk and talk and talk until you physically tape my mouth shut.”
“I could hear you talk all day,” Luke murmurs, hurriedly turning it into a cough. Michael raises an eyebrow, biting the inside of his cheek to quell a giggle, and Luke pretends not to notice that he’s pretending not to have heard what Luke said but he’s pretending not to have said. Lots of pretence going on here. He holds the strand of hair delicately, letting it run through his fingers as he snips off the edges, watching little pieces float gently to the floor like shavings of solid gold. A little too much, he’s aware, but Luke’s a hopeless romantic. He knows.
“Your hair’s really rough, you know,” Luke says. “Clearly, you don’t take care of it enough.”
“What do you recommend, chief?” Michael pipes up immediately. At first glance, he comes off as a reserved guy who doesn’t talk much. But oh, boy, is he a talker.
“Hair spa?” He suggests. “Sometime this weekend, if you want?”
Michael frowns. “I’ve heard that takes a long time. Will you be the one doing it?”
Luke shrugs. “I could be, if you ask for me.”
A grin spreads across Michael’s face, lighting up his green eyes like Christmas lights and he bites his lip. Holy shit.
“It’s that easy, huh?” He drawls, smirking at the man snipping away at his hair. “I could just ask for you, and you’d just do whatever I want? That sounds… dangerous, Luke,” he presses his lips together, and his smirk just gets wider. Okay, he’s legitimately flirting with Luke now. Luke’s butterflies are valid, right?
“Now, now, don’t get too carried away,” Luke hums. “I still have my hands on your hair, so I could fuck you up majorly, and you’d look like a clown.”
“Oh?” Michael puts on a face of mock-surprise. “You’re ready to fuck me already, is that it?” He whistles softly. “That’s impolite, Lukey, you don’t talk to a customer like that, do you?”
“Not all customers.” Luke allows himself to feel Michael’s hair one last time, before going to get the blow-dryer, because technically, it’s his job to make sure the cut is even. So he’s not being creepy. Besides, Michael ’s the one flirting shamelessly, so all he’s doing is returning the favour. Top tier customer service, that’s what it is. “You’re an exception, Michael.”
“Glad to hear it, Luke, because I think I’m going to give you an over-the-top, absolutely shimmering, dazzling customer review, that’s practically oozing praise. I’ll try not to tell them too much about how beautiful you are, because I don’t want to kill the suspense, yeah?”
“Me? Beautiful?” Luke chuckles. “Please, have you looked at yourself?”
Michael snorts, causing Luke to jump out of his skin.
“Hey!” He makes a startled noise. “I almost burned your ear off thanks to you!”
“Maybe you’d like to press a little kiss onto it to make me feel better?” Michael offers sweetly. “You know, I get whatever I ask for.”
“Technically, I’m a professional in a work environment, so my brother’s going to kill me if he sees me kiss a customer. But… tonight? Drinks? After your gig?”
Michael grins. “It’s a date.”