Work Text:
Jon had room for few simple pleasures in his life.
Often leisure would consume large swathes of time and for Jon relaxation came in at something of a bell curve, improving his mood up to a point before the impending crush of wasted time folded back in on him leaving him worse off than he started. In theory, there was a point of maximum enjoyment with minimal guilt but he could rarely catch it.
So he didn’t often make the attempt unless it was a tried and true method.
And this was one of those.
Even as he gritted his teeth against the pain of working the brush through his hair.
He'd left it too long without doing the hair mask, he could practically hear Georgie’s voice telling him. He wondered if he'd ever get that timing quite right.
Keeping his hair long was something of an indulgence in itself as he knew that with his hair he would need to put the effort in to keep manageable. He suspected that eventually he'd grow tired of this dance and cut it all off again.
But he knew he'd regret it within the week.
This had been a pendulum he'd been swinging since his mother passed. His grandmother hadn't quite known how to care for his hair. A quirk of being mixed and ending up being raised by a white family member he supposed.
He didn't blame her, she did her best, but she also came from the school of thought that all that could be done was tear through it, discomfort be damned, using olive oil as an aid where it was warranted.
Jon spent his adolescence all but shaving it off then growing it out only to find it unmanageable again. He didn’t consider that there might be a solution until well into university when he moved in with Georgie and she more or less begged him to try the products she had.
He'd folded quickly enough at the threat of her not playing with his hair anymore.
Even now though it was difficult for him to figure out the right number of times in a week to wash or condition his hair so it didn’t get too dry or too greasy.
It seemed he'd fallen a bit too far in the direction of the former this time.
But that was just fine. He was allowed to take his time with this. It was sensible, it had a purpose. So, gently he went about detangling his hair at the back of his head arms starting to burn a little at how long he'd been holding them up.
Eventually, the brush slid from top to bottom with hardly a catch so he began brushing it back. A risk with his hair in this state, when the slightest jostle could spawn another ten minutes of necessary brushing but it went easily enough as he smoothed it backward.
Then came the good part, Jon began breaking his hair into three sections at the base of his skull, and made to begin twisting, letting strands slide between his fingers.
Then a voice interrupted his movement. He tamped down the flare of automatic frustration that went up at other people daring to even speak to him when he was busy with something important and realized it was only Tim who had apparently set his architecture book aside in favor of watching Jon.
"Sorry what?" Jon asked, having missed what he'd said entirely.
"I was just saying I know how to do it from the top, like a french braid or whatever."
"O...kay?" Jon said unsure of why Tim was choosing this moment to brag.
"Sorry I mean, do you want help?"
Jon froze.
Tim immediately backed off, "sorry, too weird?"
"No-no that'd be… you don’t mind?" Jon asked. It was well after work hours so no argument could be made about the professionality of the action and it'd been so long since someone else had done his hair.
Tim smiled in that loose happy way he did only when he was starting to get tired, losing all his usual teasing and making way for a softness that Jon suspected few people but himself had opportunity to see these days, "as if I haven't been dying to get my hands in that hair of yours for months now."
There was a genuine note to that that made Jon's stomach flip, "Right well."
He pushed his chair towards Tim's desk, spinning so his back was to him, and offered the brush and elastic over his shoulder.
Tim took both with a soft huff of laughter.
Jon prepared himself for the brush, somewhat tense, it was always a risk offering someone new access to your hair and Tim had short hair so who knew how he'd approach this.
But as with all things Tim was more competent than people gave his credit for, running the brush through his hair, beginning at the bottom and making his way upward as if he hadn't just watched Jon spend fifteen minutes on his hair just now.
He also ran his fingers through it, checking that everything down to Jon's scalp had been seen to and not missed with the brush because of the thickness.
Jon just tipped his head back and allowed his eyes to slide shut under Tim's capable hands. Soon Jon felt different strands being drawn from the top of his head, and the gentle familiar sensations of braiding.
"How did you learn to do this?" Jon asked, "Did you have sisters?"
"Oh nah, my hair used to be long, couldn't stand it, usually kept it up and out of my way when I could."
"Ah yes these things can be alot of effort, I can understand giving it up if it got tangled so easily."
"The effort was fine, I just realized I was a guy," Tim snorted.
"Oh!" Jon felt his cheeks heat up, "sorry, I didn’t know."
"I figured, It's cool though. I just like the people I'm close to to know. I’m lucky that I pass or whatever but I'm not a fan of being seen as cis personally?"
"That's fair," Jon said, trying to contain the strange amalgamation of thoughts that came with being categorized as someone Tim was close to.
All too soon it was finished.
Tim wrapped the elastic around the end and said, "There. Your hair is gorgeous by the way."
Jon turned in his office chair to face Tim, not backing away so his knees would knock with Tim's if he wasn't careful, "Thank you."
"Course," Tim said easily, his chair slid forward and their legs were touching.
The silence that followed seemed to fizz with something.
“Would you like to go get dinner?”
Tim smiled, “Yeah, let's get out of here.”