Chapter Text
It was a good quiet Friday evening. The breeze did just the required justice in showcasing the brief and momentary, yet in the present moment so infinite-seeming Saturday and Sunday.
On Weekends, there was no work. It is just the thing used by corporations to motivate their overworked employees to work hard, in wait for the one or two days they get to get up on their own terms.
Only in this time did you notice that you desperately need a haircut.
If you're anything like me, which you are since I write you here, you've cut your hair multiple times on your own before. But you wanted to get it professionally done this once.
Picking up your car keys, you head to your destination: the salon.
Upon arriving, you step out of your car and make your way to the counter. From there, you were led to a private secluded area with a mirror, cosmetic table and equipment like hair dryer, straighter and a TON of combs of different sizes.
"Do you cut your hair on your own?"
You hadn't even noticed anyone entering, considering you were too must admiring the hairbrush with the base about as huge as your face.
"Yes, are you the stylist for today?"
"Yes, I am. Do you come here often? Haven't seen you around here much." The black-haired woman replied.
"Not really. But I do cut my own hair sometimes. All the time actually."
"Though it looks pretty good, I can spot the difference between a master's work and the average. Though you have the talent."
"Really? I hope you're going to do well then, uh.."
"Shane Mccutcheon." She says reaching a hand out for you to shake.
"(Your name). pleasure to meet you"
"So, is there anything particular you need?"
You couldn't help but feel an attraction to this person. Her voice, her eyes.
"Just a trim along the bottom edges. They've gone rough."
The way she turned your head when she had to trim the sides of your hair, her hands on your face, her fingers running through your hair.
You had to make your move.
"How does it look?" She swings your chair to face the mirror.
"Very nice. Are you always this good with your hands?"
"I could be, if you really wanted me to" she says, fiddling with her fingers and looking flirtatiously into your eyes.
This caught you red-handed. Or red-faced, more like.
"My numbers on the salon card if you want it." Maybe she likes you just the same.
"Huh? Well, how can I deny? How about the bar right in the front tomorrow. Or perhaps the restaurant. "
"As long as youre gonna be there, it's on" she says, touching her fingers with yours as they slowly make their way to your arm and hold it together.
"The Planet, maybe. " You whisper, rubbing along the edges of her fingers your fingernails.