Chapter Text
a few months after I had come back to live in 35 Portland Row. My hair had grown out longer than how I normally kept it during my days away, and I had never had the extra money to go get it cut, nor did I trust myself to do it.
I remember complaining aloud about it, one night, after Holly had already gone home, and George was out at the archives still, researching our current case.
Lockwood had offered to cut it for me, swearing he knew how to. Well, I trusted him with my life, so of course I’d trust him to cut my hair.
Not ten minutes later, I sat in a chair in the kitchen, pulled a little away from the table, its back to the counter. Lockwood had gathered a few supplies, really just a comb, a little spray bottle, and scissors.
The kitchen was a little dark, and quiet, aside from our hushed chatter.
First, he gently combed through my hair with his fingers. I stayed silent while he did this. I was busy trying to suppress my rapidly beating heart, hoping Lockwood couldn’t hear it pounding so fiercely against my chest.
He then grabbed the comb and brushed through it. Every once in a while his hand would brush against my neck, ever so slightly, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Lockwood must have noticed. He’d asked then, “Are you cold? I could check on the heater.”
I shook my head slightly, trying not to disrupt his brushing. “M’aright.” I mumbled.
I heard him set the comb down; Unzip his jacket. He wrapped it around my shoulders. “Is that better?” His voice was raspy, laced with fatigue.
“Much better.” I mumbled, pulling it tighter around me.
Lockwood hummed in response. He gently pulled my hair out from under the hem of the jacket that had gotten tucked underneath. “How short do you want me to cut it?” He asked, still running his hands through my hair.
I blew a stubborn piece of fringe from my face. “To my chin, I think. How it usually is.”
He responded by grabbing his scissors and beginning to make a few snips. I stayed silent, listening to the noise the scissors made when the blades closed around my hair.
We stayed in silence for a while, Lockwood concentrating on making precise cuts, making sure everything stays even, every once in a while he used the small spray bottle to wet the ends of my hair.
As he cut, I could slowly feel my head getting lighter; it felt nice to be returning to the familiar feeling of my short hair again. I’ve kept it as a bob ever since becoming an agent, so my hair wouldn’t be a problem when dealing with ectoplasm and Visitors with no sense of personal space.
I heard Lockwood set his scissors down on the counter behind him, then, using both hands, he gently ruffled my hair, letting the loose piece fall to the floor. “Done with the back.” He said softly.
Grabbing his scissors, he came around to the front, standing back a little, checking if the back appeared even from the front, and figuring out how short he’d cut the front in order to line it up with the back.
I watched him, silently, smiling softly at the way he muttered incoherently to himself under his breath. I was warmed by the thought of him taking this so seriously. It meant he was really trying to do this right for me.
My breath hitched as he stepped closer. He got down and kneeled in front of me, making us closer in height. He was so gentle in his movements, gently holding my bangs as he cut, his eyes never straying from his current task.
He was so close too. I was able to notice so many details I’d never seen before. Like the specks of light in his deep brown eyes; the length of his dark lashes.
Lockwood stepped back, admiring his work, making sure he didn’t miss anything. “Done.” He let a sleepy grin form across his lips.
I made a move to comb through it with my fingers, but Lockwood stopped me. “Wait. Don’t move.” He leaned in and using his thumb, softly swiped across my cheek, letting his hand cup my face, for the briefest moment, before meeting my eyes and grinning. “You had some on your cheek.”
He stood up straight again and began to finger through my hair to let the loose pieces fall out and float to the floor.
Once he finished, I smiled at him, standing and checking my reflection in the dark window above our kitchen sink. I ran my fingers through it and turned back to him, grinning. “Where’d you learn to do this?”
He grinned back, placing his scissors next to his other tools. “Just a skill I picked up.” Leave it to Lockwood to be mysterious. “Do you like it?”
“You did great. Thank you.”
“Happy to help, Luce. You should do mine next time.” He winked. “Now I’m going to put the kettle on, do you mind grabbing the broom?”
We had the mess cleaned up by the time George got home, about twenty minutes later. We all had tea together as George informed us on his findings. It was growing late into the morning and we had a case tomorrow night, but neither of us gave that any thought. Instead, we sat there in our dimly lit kitchen and laughed together, enjoying our tea and discussing our case.