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The smell of caffeinated urine is the first thing that hits Cas as he saunters into the salon.
Not that he’s complaining. It’s just that inhaling something other than a cheesy quarter pounder and a weeks’ worth of laundry is a rarity. Being a schoolteacher in all subjects, Cas doesn’t have much time to get out much. Literally, he hasn’t been to the grocery store in a month. Last time he checked his mail that’s not as easily transmittable as, say, genital herpes, has to be longer.
So, nevertheless, he’s happy to be in a different chair today.
If not a little nervous.
“Cas, hey,” Dean, his hairdresser, greets with the broadest of smiles. He pulls him into a heart-healthy hug, but must feel the tension forming in Cas’s deltoids, because a minute later, his arms recoil like a flower blooming in reverse. “What’s wrong?” he asks, searching Cas’s sapphire eyes before his own earthy green widen enough to swallow the Bermuda. “Oh no. You’re not thinking about getting back together with Meg, are you? Cas, we went over this, she’s just using you to get to Luci—”
“Dean,” Cas says, laughing, “do my lips look abnormally swollen?”
Dean narrows his interrogation before nodding slowly. “Okay. Then what is it?”
Cas must swallow a fur ball forming in his throat because his voice comes out scratchy saying, “I, uh, I was wondering if I could go with a different cut today.”
Dean purses his lips as effortlessly as pancake dough in a skillet. “Uhh, sure. It is a mostly free country—”
“Iwanttoshaveitoff.”
“What?” Dean says, chuckling up until he scans the seriousness in the other man’s expression like a credit card. “Cas, not to talk myself out of getting a bigger tip, but have you seen your hair? You got that whole post-sex euphoria thing going on. I mean, not that I go home fantasizing about your hair or anything, it’s just—”
“But that you do go home, fantasize about my hair…”
“Jerk off a little, sure,” Dean narrates with a wry grin that lights up his face like the glowing red reflection of a digital alarm clock. “But… I dunno, I mean, why?”
Cas’s smile flips. “It’s about Chris. We ran into some money recently,”—Dean’s eyebrows touch the start of his honey-colored widow’s peak—“from the cartel, obviously. Can’t beat Cocaine.”
“Can’t kick it, either,” Dean adds.
“Anyway, he’s doing through gender reassignment.”
“Oh my God,” Dean breathes, gripping Cas’s shoulder to contain his exuberance, “that’s amazing! Why are you here? You two should be celebrating!”
“Well, that’s the thing. He shaved his head the day he started hormones, and now some of the girls at school are teasing him, still calling him Claire, and I just, I dunno... I don’t want him to feel alone in this.” Cas swears he sees tears well in Dean’s eyes, so he decides to quip, “You’re missing the hair already, aren’t you?”
“Get in the damn chair. You think you’re the only appointment I have today?”
***
Once the oversized baby bib is around him and his hair’s wetter than a virgin before sex, Dean takes a moment to admire Cas in the mirror.
It’s ridiculous. It’s not like he’ll magically transform into someone else (maybe if it’s that peach fuzz he has going on, then he’d really be unrecognizable), but part of Dean is selfish for this-this assisted murder. Dean’s not worried about Cas regretting his decision or feeling unattractive because please, how could anyone feel that way with eyes as big and blue and fat pink lips as annoyingly, but reliably chapped whenever he smiles—but rather Cas shaving his head means Dean won’t see him for another few months, at least.
He’s been in love with Cas since the day he waltzed into his workplace, clothes literally hanging off him no thanks to Kansas’s monsoon, and, despite through gritted teeth, asked with the upmost courtesy, “May I use your facilities?”
Dean had knocked on the door not five minutes later with a spare change of clothes (hopefully the guy likes ACDC, he thought), and Cas had given him in return the gummiest of smiles.
That smile is his fix. Now, he’ll just have to deal with the withdrawals until then.
He doesn’t realize Cas staring up at him with one right friggin’ now. “Should I do the honor? I mean, this is a big moment for you, after all.”
“Uh, no,” Dean says, clearing his throat as he reaches for the razor on the supply stand. Then, he takes a deep breath and cocks the plastic part on like the base of a gun. “Hope you read ‘Rape of the Lock’.”
***
“So, how does it feel?”
Cas runs his hand over his head like a bowler polishing his favorite ball. “It’s weird, but you know, not bad. I actually feel lighter somehow.”
“Hey,” Dean says, pausing his sweeping to wag his finger, “don’t go getting any ideas.”
“Please, even if I did this again, it means I’d be seeing you more often.”
A blush creeps to Dean’s ears so red in color it matches Cas’s own. “That’s true,” he says. “Chris, too.”
“Oh no. I love that kid, but I wouldn’t wish him upon anyone.”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to see him more often. He actually reminds me a lot of myself when I was his age.”
Cas tilts his head a little before it’s too late. “Really? How’s that?”
“Well, for starters, he’s transgender.” Dean must mistake Cas’s silence for pity or disgust because a moment later, he drops the broom and approaches Cas. “Sorry. I know we’ve known each other for a few years now, but usually people can tell straightaway, so I just refrain from saying anything altogether—”
“Dean,” Cas laughs, “it’s okay, really. And you’re right, I didn’t notice. I’ve uh…” He shoves his hands into his slacks before proceeding: “I’ve actually been too caught up in everything else about you.”
Dean’s lips twitch into a smile. He’s really close now; Cas has a hard time breathing. It’s funny, because when they first met, Dean was the one who commented about Cas’s personal space problems. Despite there being no heat behind it, Cas has been more conscientious around Dean since.
Now, all that’s broken, and Dean smells like the kind of cologne spelt Musque rather than Musk and mint and shampoo, or mint shampoo, he’s not quite sure…
“Will this ruin my chances of getting a tip?” Dean asks teasingly, flickering to his lips, which perfectly align with Cas’s. Cas shakes his head softly, causing him to rub noses with the man.
“No,” he replies, smiling against his lips, “but I may have to get a new hairdresser.”