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The taste of lemonade and smoke stuck to Rolans lips as he rummaged around Kian's cabinets in search of some scissors. The cigarette in his mouth gathered smoke around the ceiling that the wind from the open window blew around the house in with a soothing breeze. It only added to the already smell of weed and joints with a hint of lemons and roses that the house seemed to never stop smelling like, no matter how many times Rolan had been here. It was comforting in a strange way, how even with Graduation coming up things still could stay the same.
He moved to the bathroom as he took another drag from his cigarette– watching from the corner of his eye as Kian was messing with his guitar, tuning it with a cigarette perched from his lips. He saw the cigarette was moving to a tune he didn't quite recognize. Probably one of his rock songs with no lyrics he decided, one with a preppy tune that made Kian's head bob back and forth, Flinging his wild blonde hair back and forth around his head.
He continued to the bathroom to grab the scissors, reeling back as somehow the bathroom smelt more of cigarettes and weed then roses or lemons. The faintest smell came with Rolan to the bathroom, but he could only smell the smallest hint of it on his clothes. Shifting through the cabinets showed him medicine, pills, and a baggie he did not want to know what was in It, actually. Though he was admittedly curious.
He shifted the baggie to the right– reaching back with a hum of satisfaction as he grabbed the scissors by the top and wandered back into the dingy living room. He paused, confused at the new smell– tilted his head and sniffed at the hair hesitantly before the smell hit him fully in the face with enough power to make him gag. He didn't know what Kian did, but the room smelled of. What he recognized vaughly of lavender. He wrinkled his nose at the smell– his stomach doing flips in his stomach as the strong smell of lavender filled his nose. Still, he had to cut Kians hair, so– he ignored it for now. Even if his stomach did flips and knotted uncomfortably.
"You know Rand would probably be better at this." He mumbled, lightheaded suddenly as he stumbled over to where Kian was sitting and sat down next to him. The scent of Lavender was almost overwhelming– and made him click his tounge in irritation. He didn't know why the scent was so irritating to him– he hoped he wasn't allergic or anything. "I mean– he's the one who cut his hair,"
He rolled his shoulders to try and loosen them up. He couldn't even feel his tongue in his mouth, it was like his head was fuzzing up, empty of thoughts besides lavender, smoke and the musty couch they were sitting on. He still remembered when Rand cut his hair into that mullet– insisted it was the coolest thing ever and he would never change it up. He got it from a show he had watched– from a guy whose name was escaping Rolan.
Kian stuck his tongue out, tilting his head back at him. "Yeah– but he's stuck at church 'member?" he looked down at his guitar, and gave it a small strum that reverberated through Rolan's ear. Right, Rolan regarded the calendar by the wall. It was sunday. He was supposed to be there too, but fortunately hanging out with Rand seemed to have given him a silver tongue.
"Also– and this is no offense to Rand man, I promise, I love the guy. But if he gave me his shittty mullet hairdo I would probably never talk to him again." He stroked his hair, which Rolan had never realized had gotten so long. It was almost to his back now.
Rolan snorted, steadying his hand as he scooted behind Kian to get a better angle. "Youch," he snickered. Kian tilted his head back to give him a look– and Rolan realized his hair was the pin point that smelt like lavender. Did he get new shampoo?
"I know we were both thinkin' it. Still love him though!" He brought his head back up as Rolan fought with his senses to lean away from Kian. He took another long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke billow past his face in hopes of smoking the feeling away. Maybe he had eaten something bad– through thinking about it, it slipped his memory.
"--I just want it to my shoulders, dude." Kian was saying. Rolan blinked a few times, scanning the back of Kians head as he talked. "Like I don't want whatever Rands rockin' but– I don't want like..." He trailed off, thinking of an example as Rolan wrapped an arm around his stomach. The smell of smoke and lemons and roses and then lavender burned his nose and made his stomach roll. He didn't remember ever reacting this strongly to a smell before– but maybe it was just escaping him.
"Did you get new shampoo?" Rolan mumbled as he evened out Kians hair in parts– his mother had done this a few times, which seemed the easiest way to cut hair.
Kian blinked and looked back at him, tilting his head at him confused. "What?"
"Travis Dongson?" He said louder, instead dazedly– and he looked at the scissors, to Kians hair then back to them wondering what they were doing there. (What was he supposed to be doing?) Kians hair smelt of Lavender, and he wondered why the smoking wasn't drowning it out.
Kain drummed his finger triumphantly against the table, smiling brightly. "Yeah, exactly man." He squinted suddenly, eyes suddenly serious with a half frown half smile. "I'm serious Rolan– if you give me Travis fuckin' Dongson's haircut i will never talk to you again man." He turned to start drumming on the table, and Rolan breathed deeply through his nose and out slowly to stop the thundering in his head, laughing weakly at Kian.
"Threat received," he hummed. Kian nodded, seeming satisfied, staying faced away from Rolan, and he assumed this was his sign he wanted Rolan to start. He paused, and inhaled deeply as he shifted closer– holding a section of Kian's hair and positioning the scissors. To the shoulder, he reminded himself. He didn't want to piss Kian off and be at the end of his wrath – so he made sure to steal himself and focus. He could not fuck this up. Their friendship was on the line here– even if Kian was joking he was sure he wouldn't stop talking about Rolan fucking up his haircut for months. Maybe their friendship would be fine, but that didn't mean Rolan would get through highschool without a prank from Kians wrath.
The scent of lavender was overwhelming now. He lifted the scissors to cut Kian's hair– pausing when he saw how hard they were shaking. He blinked, squirming in place as all he could smell anymore was lavender, lavender, lavender. His cigarette did nothing to penetrate the smell of the nauseating smell. He lifted the scissors– and opened his mouth to tell Kian maybe he should go home, maybe they could do this another time– maybe he could crash on his couch.
"Are you gonna start now dude orrr…." Kian shook his hand impatiently, and Rolan realized he had been staring at the back of his head.
"Oh yeah– sorry." He hummed. It was fine, this was okay. He just had to cut Kians hair and then go lay down for abit. He would be fine. He deployed the scissors and started with a patch of Kians hair. The only sound in the room was the sound of snipping as Rolan struggled not to black out. He cursed quietly enough so Kian wouldn't hear as he snipped more then attended from one side. He paused, and squinted as his vision doubled and folded. Kian looked back at him, and he could see the concern etched into his face. He must have looked worse than he thought.
"Woah dude–are you. Good? You smoke too much?" He reached his hand towards Rolans face and Rolans stomach flipped. He opened his mouth to answer, to assure yes he was fine– he just needed to lay down.
–Then he was running. His body was lifting, pushing past Kian before he could even recognize he was doing the motion. He was skittering away with bile rising in his throat, the scissors discarded and the smell of lavender burning in his nose. He couldn't smell– he couldn't see, and the room was spinning as he neared the bathroom. If Kian was calling his name, he didn't hear him over the sound of him puking into the toilet as he crashed hard into the floor on his knees. It was like prom, almost. When he had first tried alcohol in what was a few months, then spent all night puking and crying in the school bathroom, with Rand and Kian staying by his side, rubbing his back and calling for his parents.
("Your tolerance is shit, man." Rand said sympathetically, sitting beside his bed. Kian and Rand had skipped school for him – even if it was probably more an excuse then the reason. Kian was sitting beside him with his telltale guitar. He leaned over and flicked Rand on the cheek with a look, and Rand flinched back with a "Ow–".)
("Don't be a dickwad, man. C'mon. Everyone's first is hard." He turned to Rolan, and bit his lip. He could tell that asshole was trying not to laugh. "...That was pretty sad though, dude.")
(He reached over and propped his elbows against the bed with his usual grin. "Don't worry man, you're with us now! You'll be a drinking pro in no time.!" he and Rand high fived, laughing and snickering as Rolans eyes drifted upwards towards the ceiling. That didn't sound too appealing at the moment after puking his guts out from alcohol– but these were his friends. So it would be okay.)
"--Rolan, Hey–!" somebody was saying. He had blacked out for a second (a few seconds, maybe it had been years–)
His senses were slowly starting to fade back in for him, starting with the pounding headache and then his ringing ears. Then the revolting taste of bile and cigarettes on his tongue. Then finally the smell of lavender, and smoke, and bile and someone was talking in his ear but they were ringing and the room was spinning around him. He didn't know why but he had the urge to glance upward at the mirror. Then there was a hand on his back, and he felt Kian's rings pressing into his back, the engagements cold against his back.
Kian's hands were warm and smelt of smoke and roses. He inhaled. He wished he was just high right now, wished he could just black out and forget this. The person in the mirror he was glancing at had black eyes. (Rolans eyes were blue.)
He assumed he was seeing things, He blinked– once, twice, his eyes were blue. He slowly craned his neck up at Kian who was saying something. His mouth was moving, but his ears were ringing too much to hear what he was actually saying. He was talking with his hands again, motioning to the toilet and then out the door. He hoped he didn't expect him to walk. His legs felt like jelly, were his legs even there?
Then there was the urge to look down. He knew he shouldn't look down. He knew he would only see bile and vomit below him. There was a voice tugging on the side of his head, that yelled not to look– he didn't want to look whatever was below him he would not like. He looked down anyway. He blinked, he was back at the pond, and the tree. The water rippled with body parts that rose and bobbed in the water– turning it rosey red instead of a clear blue. He looked down in the water.
(Why did he see himself—WHY DID HE SEE HIMSELF–)
He didn't remember the next day much. Or really what happened after that. He remembered cutting Kians hair, and then vomiting, and then passing out. He slowly peeled his eyes open to a dark room. The lights were off, and there was only the quiet sounds of an old radio that was playing some song he didn't recognize. He blinked a few times. He was still in Kian's room and not his own. He could tell from the rockstar posters plastered hastily all around his room. His stomach hurt. His throat hurt, and he was curled on what he assumed was Kians bed with a blanket curled around his shoulders. His eyes fluttered, and he blinked as he looked around with his eyes- body not responsive. Just out of his hearing, he heard quiet talking, recognizing Kian and Rand from a mile away.
"....You think he's sick?" Kian was saying softly. He couldn't see him from where he was laying, but he imagined he was talking with his hands. He could smell the scent of a cigarettes and lemons and thankfully no lavender. The blankets he was laying on stank of weed and old joints. There was a pause, and then Rand responded.
"...Yeah. Probably. I mean you said he—" Rolan blinked. He must have zoned out, because Rand was saying something else then. "---do we call his parents?"
Kian said something, and then they started going back and forth. Rolan couldn't bother to listen to them argue, so he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes again, Letting the smell of weed drift him off to sleep with their voices drifting away. (He swore he heard clicking where their voices should be.)
It was a few days later when Rolan came over again. It was another sunday– and Rand was stuck in church again with his folks, so Rolan wanted to try again to cut Kians hair. He wrinkled his nose– seeing how uneven Kians hair was.
"...Your hair is so uneven." Rolan complained as he cut another chunk of it. In his lap was a pile of blonde, and he shifted constantly to try anr not let it fall onto the ground.
Kian blew out smoke from his cigarette and stuck his tongue out at him.
"You're the one who started puking your guts out while cutting it man," he shrugged. Rolan stared at him, and clicked with his tongue. Asshole.
"Ah, yeah…." He hummed. He focused his eyes, and continued to cut Kians hair. When he was done he carefully pushed the hair out of his lap, blonde raining down onto their already pretty shitty carpet. He pushed the scissors aside, and clapped his hands together.
"There we go." He brushed some strands of hair from Kians shoulder, smiling down at him. He looked nice with his hair short. He wondered how long Kian would keep this style. Kian excitedly grabbed a mirror, and tipped it upward to look at it, ooing and aaa-ing at his shortened hair. He bounced his hair and excitedly talked – too fast for Rolan to understand as he admired his hair. Rolan couldn't help it. His eyes slowly, slowly drifted upward towards the mirror. Then he looked back down to put Kian's hair in a ponytail, and smiled as Kian smiled back at him with that same grin.
(His eyes were black. His eyes were black and Rolans eyes should have been blue.)