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Scout’s hair was getting too long.
He could usually run his fingers through it and feel the ends on the palm of his hand, the cropped cut making his hand tingle. He always kept it short. He would have his mom cut it for him whenever it got longer than a few inches, the smooth sound of the hair clipper almost lulling him into a deep trance as his mother would turn his face every so often, making sure all the sides were even. Keeping tidy hair is crucial for runners, and he didn’t ever feel like putting it in a headband or ponytail. Cutting it was always easier.
But his mom wasn’t here now, and Scout never bothered to learn how to cut it himself.
As he looked in the mirror, his hand twitched as he held it up to the top of his head. He took a strand of hair between his thumb and index finger, and twisted it around, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. Letting go of it, he placed both hands on the bathroom sink, groaning. He didn’t have time to look for a reputable barber. He just had to get it cut, and fast.
So he approached the only man he knew wouldn’t stab his eyes out with a pair of scissors.
Sniper’s van appeared to be dimmed from the outside, but Scout knew he was inside, probably reading a book or some other melancholy activity. His hand stayed glued to his head, idly tugging at some of the longer strands as he approached the door, knocking a few times rapidly. When Sniper opened the door, Scout pushed his way inside, not waiting for verbal consent.
“Oy, mate, you-”
“You gotta help me, Snipes. I’ve been driving myself up the walls, I can’t stop lookin’ at my freakin’ hair. Just look at it.”
As if to confirm Sniper was really looking, Scout took a fistful of his hair and pulled it away from his head, an exaggerated frown on his face. Sniper just chuckled, walking inside his bathroom.
“A bit of long hair ain’t the end of the world. Why didn’t you just cut it yourself?”
Scout groaned again, collapsing on the nearest armchair and draping himself over it with another heavy sigh.
“Can’t. Dunno how.”
“...Learn?”
Scout sits up, on his face an incredible expression of indignation.
“You must be joking. And risk cuttin’ my goddamn ear off? Nah, I think I’ll pass. Plus, I know you gotta have tons of experience, y’know, living in a van by yourself ‘n all.”
Sniper shakes his head, but pulls an unlabelled box out from underneath his sink, carrying it into the sitting room.
“Well, yeah, but I don’t make a habit out of giving people haircuts. I’m not a bloody barber.”
Scout slaps his knees excitedly, sitting up straight, just like his mom taught him.
“Oh, this is gonna be so good. Just take it back a few inches. Y’know how I like it.”
Sniper raises an eyebrow. “I don’t, actually. But I’ll try my best.”
He takes a couple steps forward, then places a rag around Scout’s neck. Leaning in, he places a finger on each side of his face, tilting his head as he imagines how short he should cut it. Scout simply stares, his legs bouncing from sitting for longer than two minutes.
“You cut yours yourself?”
The taller man snorts. “Who else would do it, mate?”
“Just askin’.”
“Alright, sit still.”
It was quiet for approximately another 2 seconds until Scout spoke up again.
“Man, thanks for this. You got no idea how bad it’d been buggin’ me. I never used to let it get that long.”
Sniper hummed noncommitally, a gesture Scout didn’t know meant ‘keep going’ or ‘shut it before I stuff your mouth with a towel.’ His hands were moving very slowly, and Scout still hadn’t seen a single strand of hair fall on his shoulders. He decided he must still be discovering the texture of Scout’s hair and where his part was. Not that all that really mattered, Scout thought, because as long as it was short, he’d feel fine. Without turning his head, Scout looked up at Sniper, which made his eyes sting a little.
“I’m glad I don’t have to worry about a beard--I mean, I’d love to worry about one, I’m sure it’d look great on me--but it looks like a bitch to keep up with, you know?”
Sniper shrugged, remaining silent. Scout could feel his large hands looming over his skull like he was a sooth-sayer and Scout’s head was his magic orb. He tried whistling a tune, swinging his legs while he waited for Sniper to answer, or to start up a conversation on his own, or respond to literally anything he had said. He didn’t, and after a few more seconds of painful silence, Scout glared up at him.
“...Getting a tad bit unnerved here, pal.”
Sniper laughed, pulling away the scissors as he did, so as not to accidentally scrape Scout’s scalp. Scout pouted, his cheeks flushing red. People laughing was no big deal, except for when it was at him.
“What’s so funny? I’m just tryin’ to make conversation and you aren’t saying a word.”
Sniper shook his head, stifling another chuckle as he held up both hands. “Yeah, I know. Thought it might be funny to see how long you’d keep talking without a word of encouragement. Not as funny as it was in my head, I s‘pose.”
Scout huffed and rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, I get it, make fun of the chatterbox, real original idea. I can feel my hair growin’ longer as we sit here, you know.”
“Hardly think it works like that, but alright,” Sniper smiled slightly as he went back to Scout’s head. Finally, Scout heard the sound of gentle metallic clicking as Sniper began committing to whatever shape he had in mind.
Not that Scout didn’t trust him, but he did pray Sniper knew what he was doing. He didn’t think he cared as much about his hair as other men his age did, and he didn’t bother styling it or blow-drying it or using pomade or anything like that. But he wanted to look nice. Presentable. Even if he was going to just shove it all underneath a baseball cap, he’d know he looked good.
He looked down at his hands, several skin-colored bandages wrapped around his fingers.
“How’d ya get those?”
A redundant question. Sniper would know how Scout would’ve gotten these injuries; however, Scout never passed up on the opportunity to talk about himself. He straightened up a bit which earned a short click of the tongue from the other man. Scout stopped fidgeting.
“Eh, just got a lil’ battered during training earlier. No big deal.” He shrugged, and Sniper nodded as if he was done, but he kept talking. “I normally stick to what I know, you know, like batting people’s heads in, flying over their heads ‘n what not. But I saw Spy do this cool knife twirling trick and I thought, well, I could probably do that too, and so when he wasn’t looking I borrowed it and tested it out.”
He paused. Sniper raised an eyebrow.
“...And?”
“And I did it perfectly.” Scout bragged, resisting the urge to puff out his chest.
“Right. Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”
A strand of hair fell onto Scout’s eyelashes, and Sniper gently blew it off, the hair falling softly into Scout’s open palm.
“I am! I swear, I’d never lie about this.”
“So what’s the bandages for then?”
Scout grinned. “The wounds ain’t from me. Spy found me practicing and we had a bit of a tussle for the knife. Bastard scraped me up on purpose just to teach me a lesson.”
The sound of the scissors clicking stopped for a moment. A puff of air from above made Scout blink. When Sniper spoke, his words were heavy.
“...You gotta be more careful, mate. Picking fights where you shouldn’t…didn’t your ma ever tell you not to do that? Your brothers?”
His brothers.
Scout grabbed the dog tags around his neck, eyes staring at an opened box sitting on the floor of Sniper’s camper. Memoribilia, memories of memories, of a life long discarded. Had he forgotten? Of course not. Conveniently pushed away, traced back to a house once called home. He hadn’t forgotten.
“They used to, yeah. Always picked fights with the wrong kind of people. Never knew when to pull a punch, they used to say.” The metal in his hand burned. “I don’t have a lotta…what’s it called.”
“Common sense?”
“Nah.”
“...Foresight?”
“Nope.”
“Uh…discretion?”
“....I dunno what that word means. Let’s just go with common sense.”
Sniper snorted. The scissors clicked against Scout’s head. Scout could see Sniper’s palm up close as he cut his bangs back, and he noticed the deep grooves, the ones that ran from between his thumb to the middle of his wrist. It was the life line, he remembered from somewhere, though he couldn’t quite recall who had told him so. Sniper’s was solid and didn’t have any breaks crossing through it. Scout hummed, then looked down. Something told him that must be a good sign.
“So…you done yet?”
Sniper shifted so he was standing directly in front of Scout, his arms crossed defensively.
“It’s been five bloody minutes, Scout. Did your ma have lightning hands or something?” He scuffed his feet across the floor, and Scout whipped around to see where he was going. He grabbed something off the table and held it up for Scout: a cheap plastic mirror. Scout took it as if it was some kind of magical item, his lips parted slightly. His reflection stared back at him; a bit coated by grime and dust, but him nonetheless. Sniper watched as Scout reached for his hair, moving the strands around, pretending like he was thoroughly investigating the damage. Scout made an impressed grunt, and handed it back to him.
“Looks great.”
“I’ve barely changed anything. You might as well have done it yourself.”
Scout shrugged. “I think it already looks way better than before. I really only wanted the ends trimmed so it wouldn't get in my face so much.”
He made a move to stand up, but Sniper slammed both hands down on his shoulders, forcing him back down into the chair.
“Nope. You came to the wrong guy if you want a shoddy job done. I’m a perfectionist.”
Scout found himself a bit taken aback by the force he used, legs wobbling a bit as he was knocked off his feet. He thought about protesting, but Sniper had already picked up the scissors again.
“Right,” Scout mumbled, crossing his arms. He knew there was an ulterior motive as to why he was anxious for the haircut to be over. In the meantime, he just tried to keep still as well as he could, catching himself bouncing his leg every so often when it would start to ache from the rapid, repetitive movement. His eyes settled on the flare of Sniper’s pants.
“How do you not trip over those?” Scout pointed to the pants, and Sniper followed his finger. He shrugged, walking so he was behind Scout now.
“I don’t tend to trip over my own feet a lot. Guess that’s how.”
“Was that a jab at me? I do not trip over my own feet.”
“Mate, I’ve seen you trip over air before. You seem to underestimate how long your legs are.”
Scout stretched them out, noting the thin strip of muscle that ran down his thighs, which converged at his knee, then continued down his calves. The scissors stilled above his head.
“Guess they are, huh? I guess I’m just constantly on the move, my legs are always a frickin’ blur.” He chuckled, then stopped when he realized Sniper wasn’t moving again. “Yo, you good back there, big guy?”
“...Yeah, was just thinking.”
“About what? Come on, lemme hear. You’re always so quiet.”
“Nah, it's boring. I’d only put you to sleep.”
“Nothing could be more boring than what you’re doin’ right now.”
Sniper hummed, contemplating silently. Scout could feel himself falling asleep just waiting for him to say something again. He was about to spit out some sarcastic remark when Sniper finally responded.
“Was thinkin’ I wish I coulda seen you running around with your brothers.”
A beat. Scout didn’t say anything.
“Like…a time machine, yeah? Just for a second. Wonder what you were like back then.”
Snip, snip.
“M’sure you were the same anklebiter that you are now. I dunno.”
Snip. Another piece of hair fell into Scout’s hand. He closed his fingers over it tightly.
“Never had a sibling myself. I always thought…well, I was always curious. Seems like a fantastic thing. Like being best friends with yourself.”
Sniper cleared his throat, and Scout thought his next words seemed a bit flustered. “Sorry. Got kinda lost in m’head there.”
“Nah, don’t apologize.”
Scout’s palms were open again, and in his hand laid his dampened hair, perfectly aligned with his life line.
Sniper stopped cutting when he heard Scout’s wavering voice, and he quickly stepped around to his front, kneeling down to look up at him.
“Crikey. I didn’t mean-”
“I don’t even know why ‘m crying,” Scout chuckled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You got a strange way with words, big guy. You know…I guess it is like that.”
Sniper’s hand was outstretched slightly, but when he heard Scout laugh, it withdrew.
“...I am really sorry.”
Scout waved a hand, sitting up straight again and shaking out his shoulders.
“You got nothing to apologize for. It was nice.” He looked down at the hair in his hand. His brother’s laughs echoed in his head, everpresent and melancholy. Now, they had been handled carefully, orbs of wistful nostalgia. “I like thinking about them.”
Sniper smiled and rose back to his feet with a sigh. “That’s good. Glad I could help you, then.” He patted his head as he went back to grab the scissors, then seemed to stop. “I think I’m done, actually. Take a gander.”
Scout grabbed the mirror from where it sat next to him on the seat and held it up…and saw the faces of all his brothers grinning back at him.
He took his time admiring the work, the sideburns, the top, and the back (though it was hard to see, he had to get up and check in Sniper’s bathroom mirror). When he came back, he patted Sniper on the shoulder with a wide grin. The taller man raised a skeptical eyebrow, waiting for the final decision. Scout decided to let the moment linger before finally nodding his head.
“I think you got your work cut out for you as a barber, pal. I’m serious. This is a dead-end job for you, far as I’m concerned.” With a mock inspirational voice, he tightened his grip on his shoulder, and placed his hand over his heart. “Follow your dreams. Don’t look back.”
Sniper’s posture relaxed visibly, and he dropped his arms to his sides, a smile erupting on his face as well.
“Glad ya think so.” He ruffled Scout’s hair, a few stray strands flying into the air around them. “Next time, I’ll give you a ten percent discount.”
Scout laughed and looped an arm around Sniper’s shoulder, dragging him along as he walked back over to the chair. Sniper immediately knew what he was doing, and struggled weakly to escape Scout’s grip.
“Oy, wait-” Sniper protested, his arms wrapping around Scout’s waist as he tried to pry the man away from him.
“Nope. It’s your turn now. Sit down, and let your ol’ pal Scout take care of ya.” He grinned as he wrangled Sniper to sit down in the chair, ignoring the man’s grunts as he struggled.
Eventually, Scout got him to sit down, and Sniper glared up at him defeatedly.
“Right. You’ve sat me down. You even know what to do?”
Scout picked up the scissors, humming thoughtfully as he turned them over in his hand, admiring the way it glinted as the light overhead caught it at the right angle. It almost reminded him of Spy’s butterfly knife…
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, do not do it.”
Scout scoffed and held his hands up. “Whaddya mean? I’m not thinking of doing anything. Nothing at all. Do me a favor though and maybe close your eyes for a sec.”
“Scout…” Sniper eyed the knife in his hand suspiciously, his eyes flickering between Scout’s face and his hands, which were already beginning to play with the handle of the scissors. “I’m not closing my eyes until those scissors are back safely in my hands. I’m gonna count to three.”
“What am I, a child? I’m not giving these back.”
“One.”
“Oh, come on, dude, I just wanna show you what I showed Spy earlier! It’s going to be so cool, I swear-”
“Two…”
“...Whatever.”
Scout debated just tossing them up in the air for Sniper to catch, but he thought that would be a little spiteful. With an exaggerated groan, he placed them nicely on top of Sniper’s outstretched palm. He shoved his hands in his pockets, grumbling to himself.
“You’re no fun, Snipes.”
Sniper just chuckled and leaned back onto the chair, swirling the scissors around with a dopey grin. “Didn’t even let me get to three, eh?”
Scout paused. He was right. Shit.
“I…I just don’t want another reason to visit the doc, alright? No need to poke fun at me,” Scout complained, watching enviously as Sniper effortlessly flaunted his ability to twirl the scissors. “Hey, that’s no fair, man!”
“They’re my scissors. I do what I want with ‘em.”
Scout sniffed aggravatedly, stomping over to the door of Sniper’s van. “Whatever. Thanks for the haircut, see you tomorrow, sleep well, yadda yadda…”
“Wait, Scout, hold on.” Sniper called after him with a laugh. When Scout turned around, he stood up and placed the scissors back in the box of styling tools, then put the box back where he had originally stashed it. While he was crouching down, he pulled out a deck of cards and held it up. “Up for a game?”
The box of cards was already out of Sniper’s hand before he could even finish his question. Scout plopped down onto his bed with a grin, pointing at the chair happily.
“I get the bed.”
“...You always get the bed.”
Sniper sat down in the chair anyways, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he watched Scout shuffle the cards. A peaceful understanding settled between the both of them as calloused palms smoothed over skin and tufts of hair lingered on the shag carpet. For a moment, Scout felt like he was back home, if there ever was such a place, and the smell of Sniper’s cologne and tobacco became interchangeable with the natural musk of the streets he used to explore. When slivers of skin intermittently grazed each other, the two men were none the wiser, reveling in glories of imaginary spoils and the lull of the crisp desert landscape outside. Eyes caught eyes, and lips found teeth, and nights turned softer under the observant gaze of the moon. Scout would tuck his hair back under his cap in the morning, but for now, it remained untethered, much like the memories of his family and the steady hands of an enigmatic deadeye.