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Have you ever been to the Beach?
By the grace of God, Rimbaud didn’t ask that. The newly named Paul Verlaine turned his head to look at him and Rimbaud’s words caught in his throat. Verlaine sat in the chair in front of him as Rimbaud struggled to brush out his friend’s hair. It was matted in spots and just a few more days away from more mats in others. Clearly it hadn’t been cared for, for the majority of his life. He hadn’t been receptive to people from the DGSS touching it, or him for that matter, so now it’s fallen to Rimbaud to do it.
Verlaine trusted him, and he didn’t trust many other’s right now. Rimbaud was rather proud of that fact, but he still hesitated for a moment whenever Verlaine would flinch. It surprised him- Verlaine’s pain tolerance was understandably high, but a subtle sort of pain like this was still jarring to him. He could shush and soothe all he wanted, but this must have been something entirely brand new to Verlaine.
“You look like you want to ask something.” Verlaine says with a curious sort of look in his eyes.
“Not really.” Rimbaud feels himself blushing, but Verlaine doesn’t seem to notice. He turns his head back around to stare at the window in front of them. People watching was a hobby of his, though. Rimbaud wondered what it must have been like for him, learning so much about the world at his current age. Rimbaud wondered what Verlaine saw when he looked out windows like this. In a way, Rimbaud almost envied the way Verlaine had so many life experiences set out in front of him.
Of course, the circumstances behind that weren’t quite so kind, so such thoughts are best kept to himself- it’s rather unfair to think, let alone say.
“Have you ever had your hair cut before?” Rimbaud asks a much less foolish question, Verlaine hums a moment then responds.
“I think so- whenever it would become a problem.” His reply is somewhat uncertain. Verlaine had told him in the past that his memories were somewhat blurry. Rimbaud theorized it was the machine controlling him, but it was hard to say without further research into the man’s writings.
They fell silent for a time, Rimbaud brushed out what he could and at least tried to make presentable what he had to cut away. It was…
Alright. In fact, he’s seen worse haircuts!
This was pretty bad, though.
“There…” Rimbaud because, a bit hesitant. “I think I’m done.”
Verlaine blinked.
“Did it turn out that bad?” Rimbaud didn’t want to answer that. Verlaine took it as confirmation.
“Here- just let me- Stay right here.” There must be hair ties somewhere in this house. He had to scour his bedroom and the entire bathroom, but he found a couple. When he came back Verlaine was turned in his seat, watching for his return. “Will you let me try something?”
Verlaine sat in front of Rimbaud again, and Rimbaud tried everything he could think of. A high ponytail was too painful, but a low ponytail didn’t hold enough hair. A braid would help prevent tangling, but his hair was too uneven; not to mention Verlaine didn’t even know how to braid.
Throughout it all, Verlaine seemed rather relaxed. Was he enjoying having someone do his hair? Of course, compared to the tugging and pulling of before, anything would be nice.
“How about.. Something like this.” Rimbaud mumbled aloud. He pulled the majority of Verlaine’s hair back into a ponytail, leaving a section of his bangs and the side. This, he worked into a braid, tied at the end, then tied to the ponytail itself.
“There… that should at least help.” And disguise Rimbaud’s shoddy cut job. Thank Christ, he was good at what he did. “I can help you experiment more when your hair begins growing back in… though, hopefully during your next cut you’ll feel better to let someone else handle it.”