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Buck
The first time Eddie sat in Buck’s chair, he didn’t say much.
Buck remembered it clearly — a Tuesday, the third Tuesday of the month, late afternoon, the last of the golden light spilling through the front windows of the shop. The guy had walked in alone, didn’t check his phone once while he waited. Just sat quietly and watched the room like he was used to doing it — like silence wasn’t uncomfortable for him the way it was for most people.
He introduced himself as “Eddie” when Buck called him over. No last name, no chatty explanation about what he wanted — just a quick, “Short back and sides, bit of a fade. Keep the top longer, but blended.”
Buck nodded, used to that kind of efficiency. He got started.
Three minutes in, he’d already memorised the shape of Eddie’s head. He had one of those hair types that behaved — thick, a little coarse, but not unruly. He faded him out easily. The kind of cut Buck could do in his sleep, if he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of the way Eddie smelled like cedarwood and something citrusy. The kind of guy who used cologne on purpose, not by accident.
He didn’t talk much. Didn’t fidget. Sat with his eyes half-closed, head tilting obligingly when Buck guided him left or right.
And when Buck brushed the stray hairs off his neck at the end, Eddie just said, “Thanks,” in a voice that didn’t quite match how pretty his mouth was.
Buck watched him leave with a smile he tried not to let show.
Eddie came back next month. The third Tuesday. Same cut. Same quiet. Same subtle, intentional calm.
And then he came back again. And again.
And Buck started looking forward to it.
He knew the exact guard Eddie preferred at the nape. Knew he liked a low taper, not too aggressive. Knew he didn’t like a lot of product. Knew that if Buck took his time edging out the corners just below his temple, Eddie always closed his eyes for a second, just a little longer than necessary.
He didn’t know what he did for work. Didn’t know much at all, really.
Except that he was cute as hell and never once corrected Buck’s work.
Which meant — either he didn’t care.
Or he trusted him.
Eddie
Eddie hadn’t meant to make it a routine.
But after the third visit, it became one.
He liked the shop — it was open, but not flashy. Clean but lived-in. A good hum in the background. He liked that Buck never pushed. Never asked him what he did for a living, even when he could tell that Buck was itching for more conversation.
He could’ve told him.
Sometimes he thought about it. During the quiet parts — when the buzz of the clippers was soft at his neck, when Buck’s fingers tipped his head just slightly to the side. He thought about saying, “I do this too, you know,” or “I’ve got a shop over in Silver Lake.”
But he didn’t.
Because Buck wasn’t doing the maths while he cut. He wasn’t second-guessing his angles. He wasn’t asking what scissors Eddie preferred or what he thought about skin fades versus shadow fades. He wasn’t talking shop.
He was just… good. In a way that didn’t demand anything back.
Eddie had spent the last few years standing on his feet, cutting hair for other people, listening to their stories. Fixing the bad jobs. Grooming beards. Teaching teenagers how to ask for what they wanted. Keeping his mouth shut when someone asked for a flat top in 2025.
But here, in this chair, he didn’t have to do any of that.
Buck cut his hair like it mattered — but not like he expected anything in return.
So Eddie didn’t tell him.
He just came back. Again. And again. And again.
And let someone else take care of him for once.
Buck
By the sixth visit, Buck was spiralling.
Not in a dramatic way — just in that quiet, constant, I-think-about-him-way—too-much way. The kind of spiral where he found himself looking forward to the third Tuesday of every month, when Eddie usually came in. Where he caught himself putting on a different shirt that morning. Where he paused at the mirror a little longer than necessary to make sure he didn’t have hair gel on his ear.
It didn’t help that Eddie was relaxed now. Or maybe it was just Buck who’d changed.
He teased more now. Tested the waters. Nothing wild — just light touches to the shoulder when guiding him around, maybe a “You’re lucky you’ve got a good head shape. Makes my job easy.”
Eddie would look at him sometimes — really look — and say something like, “You’re the one with the clippers, man. I’m just here.”
Which was… not unflirty?
Buck hadn’t figured it out yet.
Case in point — the last appointment.
“You always ask for the same thing,” Buck said, sweeping the cape over Eddie’s shoulders, fastening it at the neck. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me to experiment.”
“I trust you,” Eddie said, simple as anything.
Buck faltered. Just for a second. “Yeah?”
Eddie gave the faintest smile. “Doesn’t mean I want a mohawk.”
Buck laughed, stepping back to grab the clippers. “Coward.”
Eddie shrugged. “Practical.”
Buck guided his head forward with one hand, settling into the rhythm. Clippers on, first pass clean up the back, hair falling in soft tufts. It always looked good coming off Eddie. Like it was supposed to.
They talked more now — not about anything big. LA traffic. Dumb podcasts Buck was into. A TV show they both had watched. Eddie listened, offered the occasional sarcastic comment, but never too much. He was quiet by nature, but not closed off. Just… selective.
“You’ve got steady hands,” Eddie said once, near the end of the cut.
Buck glanced at him in the mirror, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Mm.” Eddie nodded, casual. “Can always tell when someone’s good.”
Buck swallowed. Tried not to let it show.
He wanted to ask — How? Wanted to dig deeper. But instead, he trimmed the final line along Eddie’s sideburn and said, “Well, you’ve got a good head for it.”
Eddie arched an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”
“It is if you want it to be.”
That earned him the smallest smile. Almost a smirk. But it was gone too fast to pin down.
When Buck pulled the cape away and brushed the loose hairs from Eddie’s neck, Eddie stood, stretched, and said, “Thanks, Buck.”
“Anytime.”
He watched him leave like he always did — half-wondering if this was flirting, or if he was just making it up in his head.
Either way, he hoped Eddie came back next time.
During the eighth haircut was when Buck started to think that maybe Eddie was starting to flirt back just a little more than usual.
Maybe.
“Fresh cut?” Eddie asked as he dropped into Buck’s chair, nodding toward his head. “Looks good.”
Buck blinked, caught off guard. “Oh — uh. Yeah. Did it last night.”
He reached up automatically, ran a hand through the top like he needed to check it was still there.
“You cut your own hair?” Eddie asked, a little too casual.
Buck shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah, I mean — I’ve got mirrors. And hands.”
“Steady ones,” Eddie said with a small nod, voice quiet but certain.
Buck felt his ears heat up. Looked away like he was checking something on the bench, even though everything he needed was already there.
“Thanks,” he muttered, pretending to fiddle with a guard he didn’t need to change. “Guess that’s what happens when you date your clippers.”
Eddie didn’t reply right away. Just watched him quietly. The look wasn’t exactly unreadable — Buck just didn’t trust himself to read it right.
He cleared his throat and snapped the cape open, stepping close to drape it over Eddie. It settled like a familiar rhythm — cape on, nudge of the shoulder, head tilted forward with a touch at the crown.
“Same as always?” Buck asked.
“Unless you’ve got something wild in mind.”
Buck grinned, recovering. “Nah. I’m not brave enough to mess with your signature look. You’ve got that whole mysterious-regular-who-never-smiles vibe locked down.”
Eddie huffed out a small laugh — the kind Buck had started counting as a win.
Clippers hummed to life. Buck made the first pass up the nape, watching dark strands fall clean against the cape. He took his time. He always did with Eddie. Not just because he liked the work — but because the quiet between them had started to feel like something too.
“How’s the day been?” he asked, just to keep the flow.
Eddie shrugged. “Long. Yours?”
“Started with birthday donuts from my sister, her husband and my niece, and just continued from there. Nothing special.”
Eddie’s head tipped slightly, but Buck caught the shift and guided it back into place.
“Birthday?” Eddie asked.
Buck gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah. Not a secret but trying not to make a thing of it.”
“You’re working on your birthday?”
Buck smirked. “You think I should’ve stayed home and lit a candle for myself?”
“I think it’s suspicious,” Eddie said, voice even.
Buck turned the clippers off and stepped to the side, reaching for his comb. “What, like I’m lying about it?”
Eddie tilted his head; eyes meeting Buck’s in the mirror. “Feels like something you’d do to get people to be nice to you.”
“I don’t need to fake a birthday for that,” Buck said, mock offended.
Eddie didn’t smile, but his eyes definitely did. “No, I guess you don’t.”
Buck didn’t know what to do with that, so he leaned back in, working the edges of Eddie’s haircut with slow, practiced precision. The shop noise faded into background static. Just them, the mirror, the warm buzz of something neither of them had named yet.
“Well,” Eddie said eventually. “Happy birthday.”
Buck’s grin pulled wide before he could stop it. “Thanks. You gonna sing for me?”
“No.”
“What, not even a sexy whisper version?”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Is that something you’re into?”
Buck’s mouth opened — then closed again, suddenly unsure if it was a joke or a test.
He cleared his throat, smoothed a hand over the top of Eddie’s hair just to give himself something to do.
“Maybe,” he said. “Depends who’s asking.”
Eddie didn’t look away.
Didn’t smile either.
Just held his gaze for a second too long — and then turned his eyes back to his own reflection in the mirror like the conversation hadn’t happened at all.
Buck’s pulse kicked hard behind his ribs.
He swore under his breath and reached for the clippers again.
Buck didn’t think that Eddie could look any better, but during his ninth haircut — the weather made sure to let Buck know that he was wrong.
It was pouring when Eddie walked in.
Not drizzling. Not LA-mist. Full, proper rain — rare enough that Buck noticed it, even from where he stood halfway through a cut. The door chimed behind him and the whole shop seemed to shift for a second, the usual buzz dampened by the sound of wet sneakers and soaked cotton.
Buck glanced over his shoulder.
Eddie was damp around the collar, dark t-shirt clinging slightly at the shoulders, rain curling off the ends of his hair where it had gotten too long again. He gave Buck a nod — low, familiar — and moved to his usual seat in the corner to wait without saying a word.
And Buck may have just looked at Eddie for a second longer than was professional. Trying his best to keep his tongue inside his mouth.
By the time Buck finished with his current client, Eddie had his arms folded across his chest and the faintest drop of water trailing down his temple. Buck grabbed a towel and tossed it at him before he called him over to sit down.
“You trying to get pneumonia?” Buck asked, shaking his head.
Eddie caught the towel midair. “Didn’t wanna miss my spot.”
“Pretty sure you’d survive an extra day,” Buck said, tugging the clean cape from the back wall.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Maybe.”
Buck turned away so Eddie wouldn’t see the stupid grin tugging at his mouth.
By now, it was a rhythm — Eddie walking in, Buck already knowing what he wanted, the whole cut practically muscle memory. But something about him showing up like this — soaked, borderline smug about it — felt different.
“Cape’s warm,” Eddie said as Buck tucked it in at the neck. “Nice touch.”
“Yeah, I preheated it for you,” Buck replied. “Premium service. You want a warm towel and neck massage while I’m at it?”
Eddie didn’t answer right away. Just met Buck’s eyes in the mirror, unreadable.
Buck smirked, brushing a few stray raindrops from Eddie’s ear. “Figured it might make up for the fact you look like you ran here from the car.”
Eddie let him fuss for a second, then said, casual as anything, “I’ve got a guy worth running for.”
Buck froze.
Not fully — not enough to be obvious. Just for a beat. Long enough that his hand hovered, clippers ready, but not quite moving.
Then he recovered. Flicked them on. Acted normal.
“You must really love your accountant,” he said lightly, guiding Eddie’s head forward.
Eddie exhaled — half a laugh, maybe — but didn’t correct him.
Buck made the first pass up the back, hair falling cleanly yet again. The cape fluttered slightly with each stroke, and he tried to focus on the fade, on the way Eddie’s hair always sat just right against his skin. Tried not to focus on what the hell that line had meant.
He’d said it too casually to be serious. Right?
But Eddie didn’t joke. Not like that.
“You ever say something confusing on purpose?” Buck asked, working around the side now, tilting Eddie’s chin with two fingers.
Eddie looked up at him, eyes dark beneath damp lashes. “Why? Did I?”
Buck swallowed. Smiled like it wasn’t killing him. “Not sure yet.”
And Eddie — infuriating, unreadable Eddie — just tilted his head obligingly to the other side.
“Then I guess you’ll have to think about it.”
Eddie’s eleventh haircut came as more of a surprise to Buck.
It was late in the day, shop already winding down. Buck was mid-buzz on a guy who couldn’t stop talking about his kombucha startup when he heard the door open behind him.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
There was something about the air — like it shifted the second Eddie walked in. Calmer. Heavier. More settled. Buck didn’t know how one person could take up space without even speaking, but Eddie somehow managed it.
He glanced up anyway. Just to confirm.
And there he was — standing in the doorway like he hadn’t just walked in without an appointment. Like he hadn’t ever made an appointment, technically.
Buck flicked his eyes toward the waiting chairs, and Eddie nodded once, dropping into the corner seat like he always did.
Didn’t pull out his phone.
Didn’t check how long it might take.
Just sat there.
Buck tried to focus on the guy in front of him — something about small-batch fermentation, four locations already planned, funding almost secured — but his hands were moving on autopilot now, lining up a hairline he barely remembered shaping.
When he finally sent the client off, Eddie was already unfolding himself from the waiting chair.
“It’s not the third Tuesday of the month,” Buck said, grabbing a fresh cape.
Eddie shrugged, moving toward the chair. “Thought I’d risk a walk-in.”
Buck tried not to grin. Failed. “Dangerous game.”
“I like to live on the edge.”
“Of your seat?” Buck teased, reaching for the clippers. “Or mine?”
Eddie just raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Whichever has the better view.”
Buck choked on a breath and turned quickly to adjust the clippers, pretending he hadn’t heard that.
They didn’t say much for a bit. The buzz of the clippers filled the space, steady and familiar, like breathing. Buck guided Eddie’s head forward, working clean lines into the nape, blending up with practiced ease.
He’d cut this hair eleven times now. He knew every angle. Every way it moved.
But this was the first time it felt like his chair — not just the shop’s. Not just the routine. Like Eddie had walked in expecting Buck to be the one behind him.
And Buck… didn’t hate that.
“You know,” Buck said, quieter now, “most people book ahead for a reason.”
“I’m not most people,” Eddie replied.
Buck paused — not visibly, just enough that the next pass took half a second longer than it needed to.
“No,” he said. “You’re really not.”
Eddie didn’t say anything to that. Just let Buck move his head gently to the side, then the other, giving him access without resistance. Like he trusted him. Like he always had.
Buck adjusted the cape, brushed a bit of hair off Eddie’s shoulder. “You’ve got your routine,” he said lightly. “Same day, same time, like clockwork.”
He stepped around, looked up, met Eddie’s eyes in the mirror.
“So what gives today? You got a hot date or something?”
Eddie didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.
Just said, “How would you feel if I did?”
Buck’s hand paused — only for a second.
Not long enough to register as hesitation, but long enough for his brain to catch fire.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t know how to.
So he kept moving, lining up Eddie’s nape with more focus than necessary, as if getting the angle perfect would quiet the noise in his head.
Buck worked in silence for a while, heart thudding a little too hard behind his ribs.
When he finally undid the cape and brushed the loose hairs from Eddie’s collar, Eddie stood like he hadn’t just knocked Buck’s whole world slightly off-axis.
“See you next time?” Buck asked, casual.
Eddie shrugged like it wasn’t already a given. “If you’ve got space.”
Buck smiled — slow, stupid. “I’ll always make space.”
The following night, Buck found himself wandering around a neighbourhood he hadn’t been to in years.
He’d gone to Silver Lake for dinner with Maddie — some low-lit Mediterranean place she liked that didn’t take reservations. After, she begged him to walk it off with her so she could vent about a caller who had gotten on her nerves earlier in the week. Buck had agreed, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, just happy to listen.
They wandered a while, winding past closed storefronts and flickering neon signs. It had rained earlier, and the sidewalks still shimmered a little, damp, and uneven under the streetlights.
He was half a step ahead of her when he stopped short.
Maddie bumped into his shoulder a second later, muttering a surprised “oof” before stepping back. “What—?”
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
The barbershop was small — tucked between a tattoo studio and a florist, the kind of place you’d only notice if you were looking for it. The windows were fogged slightly from the earlier rain, glowing from the inside with that soft, end-of-day warmth.
Inside, one chair was occupied.
And behind it—
Buck would’ve recognised that haircut anywhere. The shape of it. The fade. The way the top was left just long enough to push back, but still neat. It was his work.
There Eddie was. No mistaking him. Same slope of his shoulders. Same calm expression.
Buck stared, barely breathing, while Eddie faded the guy’s hair with quiet precision, gliding his own clippers up the back of his clients head, just like Buck had done to him only the day before. His focus sharp, posture relaxed. Like this was normal. Like he’d done it yesterday and would do it again tomorrow.
Which, Buck realized slowly, he probably had.
And probably would.
He took a step back, then forward again. Couldn’t seem to decide which way to move.
Eddie hadn’t seen him. He was too focused, too dialed in. Buck watched him wipe down the guy’s neckline with a towel, then say something Buck couldn’t hear, lips barely moving. The guy smiled, stood, shook his hand.
Buck backed up fast, heart hammering.
He didn’t know why he felt... something. Like betrayal. Like embarrassment. Like he’d been let in and left out all at once.
Because suddenly, everything made sense. The way Eddie never flinched. Never asked questions. Never offered opinions. The way he sat so still, let Buck touch him, let Buck think he was in charge.
He wasn’t.
Eddie had known exactly what he was doing the whole time.
Buck backed away from the window too fast, head down like he’d been caught stealing something.
Maddie followed, a few steps behind, confused but not pushing yet. They rounded the corner of the building before she finally said, “Okay. What was that?”
Buck stopped, glanced over his shoulder — then pointed back toward the fogged-up barbershop window.
“I cut his hair,” he said.
Maddie leaned slightly, trying to look past him. “The guy in the chair?” she asked — then gasped, hand pressed to her chest, playing up the dramatics — and the sarcasm. “Oh my god. Is your client cheating on you?”
Buck didn’t even blink. “No. The barber.”
Maddie raised an eyebrow, curious now. “The barber is cheating on you?”
Buck let out a frustrated breath. “No, Maddie. I cut his hair.”
There was a pause.
Then Maddie blinked. “Oh.” She blinked again. “Okay… and?”
Buck huffed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He never told me he was a barber.”
There was a beat.
Then Maddie smiled — small, but sharp. “And let me guess… you’ve cut his hair more than once?”
Buck gave her a flat look. “Eleven times.”
“Oof.”
“Yeah.”
She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “Okay, but seriously. Why does it feel like you just found out your boyfriend’s been lying about a second family?”
Buck didn’t answer. Just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and stared at the sidewalk like it had personally betrayed him.
Maddie’s smile turned softer, more knowing. “Oh my god. Buck.”
“What.”
“You have a crush on your client.”
He groaned. “Stop.”
“You do.”
“I really need you to stop.”
She laughed, looping her arm through his and steering him away from the shop. “Come on, loverboy. I’ll buy you a pity cookie and you can tell me all about your mysterious haircuting man.”
Buck didn’t say anything, but he let her pull him along.
And he didn’t look back.
Buck wasn’t sure what would happen when Eddie came in for his twelfth haircut — not that Buck was keeping count.
Buck was already sweeping up after the last of the earlier afternoon rush when the door chimed.
He didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
Third Tuesday of the month. But by now it was the following month because Eddie had broken his pattern with his last impromptu haircut.
Eddie’s footsteps were familiar now — unhurried, solid, deliberate in the way everything about him seemed to be. Buck kept his head down, trying to stay steady in a rhythm that suddenly didn’t feel like his anymore.
“Hey,” Eddie said simply, moving to sit without waiting for a cue. Same chair. Same time. Just like always.
Buck nodded, tossing the broom aside and grabbing a clean cape from the hook. “You good with your usual?”
“Yeah.”
He draped the cape around Eddie’s neck, fastened it neatly, then reached for the clippers without another word.
Normally, this was the part where Buck would joke — something about Eddie’s growing collection of loyalty punches, or a smart remark about upgrading him to the “Deluxe Quiet Guy Special.” Eddie didn’t laugh much, but Buck had learned to aim for the small huff. The corner-of-the-mouth twitch.
Today, though, he didn’t say anything.
Just flicked on the clippers and guided Eddie’s head forward with a light touch at the crown.
His hands were steady. Muscle memory took over, the same clean fade he’d done eleven times before. The problem wasn’t his hands.
It was his brain.
Nearly a year of haircuts, and he’d never thought to mention what he did the rest of the week.
Buck kept his eyes down, focused on the blend, the taper, the line behind the ear. Eddie had good hair — thick, predictable, clean growth patterns. Easy. Buck had always liked cutting it.
He wasn’t sure he liked it today.
Not because the job had changed. But because he had.
Because every pass of the clippers reminded him of standing on that sidewalk, watching Eddie move with the kind of comfort and confidence Buck hadn’t even known he’d been hiding.
And now, here he was — back in Buck’s chair like nothing had changed.
Like it was still just a haircut.
Buck shifted slightly, jaw tight, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. He moved to the other side, still silent.
He could feel Eddie watching him in the mirror.
Not obviously — just small glances. The kind Buck would’ve missed if he wasn’t suddenly hyper-aware of everything.
“You okay?” Eddie asked after a while. Voice low. Even.
Buck didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just tired.”
He wasn’t sure if Eddie believed him.
But he didn’t push.
Buck kept going — trimmed the sideburns, cleaned up the neckline, checked the blend between clippered and scissored layers. It was sharp. Clean. The kind of cut Buck would’ve been proud of on any other day.
He dusted off the cape and unfastened it. “You’re all set.”
Eddie stood slowly. Adjusted the hem of his t-shirt, rolled his neck once.
Then paused — just for a second.
Buck caught the look in the mirror. It wasn’t judgment. Wasn’t suspicion.
It was just… careful.
“See you next time?” Eddie asked.
Buck nodded. “Yeah. Course.”
Eddie left without another word.
Buck didn’t watch him leave — but he wished he’d said something before he did.
Eddie didn’t say anything when he walked in for his thirteenth haircut — just gave Buck a nod, shrugged off his jacket, and moved to the chair like always.
It was a rhythm by now. A pattern.
Buck pretended nothing had shifted.
He draped the cape with practiced ease, doing it up it behind Eddie’s neck. “You good with your usual?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, settling in.
Buck reached for the clippers, thumbed the switch. The hum filled the space like it always did.
But something about it felt louder today.
He started at the nape, clean and precise, fading up with care. His hands were steady. His eyes focused. Everything about the cut was sharp, dialled-in.
He didn’t say much.
He couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than last time.
They were halfway through when Eddie finally spoke.
“Last time was different,” he said — quiet, not accusing. Just… noticing.
Buck paused — not visibly. Just a small stillness. Long enough to register.
“Was it?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Eddie’s head, on the way Eddie’s hair fell as he worked through it.
“You didn’t talk,” Eddie said simply.
“I don’t always talk.”
“You always do with me.”
Buck didn’t answer right away. Just kept working. The fade was tight. The line along the temple needed adjusting. It gave him something to focus on.
Eddie didn’t press. Just watched him.
And maybe that was worse.
Buck cleared his throat. “It was just a weird week.”
Eddie hummed, a sound that wasn’t quite agreement.
Another beat passed. Then:
“You know, you don’t have to keep it to yourself.”
Buck’s jaw flexed as he said it.
He met Eddie’s eyes in the mirror — and for once, he didn’t look away.
There was no challenge in Eddie’s expression. No judgment.
Just… room.
Buck looked down. Picked up the scissors.
“I know.”
A few quiet cuts. The soft snip of the blades. Eddie stayed still beneath his hands.
Then — without looking up:
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Eddie didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. Buck saw it, the moment understanding hit his eyes.
He kept going, fingers combing through the top, lifting, trimming. But his voice was tight now. Not angry — just quietly unravelling.
“Twelve haircuts, and you never once mentioned it.”
He didn’t say barber. Didn’t need to.
“I mean—” Buck gave a short breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Doing this yourself for how long? You’ve got a whole shop of your own, and you just—what? Decided to let me figure it out because I happened to walk past your place by accident? Were you ever going to say anything?”
Eddie was quiet for a moment. Then:
“I just wanted to sit in the chair.”
That slowed Buck’s hands.
Eddie’s voice was even. Honest.
“I didn’t want to be the guy comparing notes. Or talking shop. Or explaining why I’d do it differently. I wanted to sit. And not think. Like everyone else.”
Buck swallowed. “So you lied by omission.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t not lie.”
“I paid full price.”
Buck huffed. “You paid in silence.”
There was the smallest twitch of a smile in Eddie’s reflection.
“I came in because you came very highly recommended,” Eddie said. “Said you had good hands. Said you were steady. Said you actually listened.”
Buck blinked. “Who?”
“Guy who runs the boxing gym I go to — and at least half a dozen of the people he trains,” Eddie replied. “Wouldn’t shut up about how you fixed his taper after some kid at Supercuts messed it up.”
Buck rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I remember that guy. Comes in every six weeks now”
“Word spreads.”
Buck worked in silence for a beat.
Then, under his breath, low and matter-of-fact: “Well, no shit. I’m really fucking good at what I do.”
That made Eddie chuckle — soft, genuine, quick.
Buck felt it in his chest like a win he hadn’t planned for.
He finished the last few snips, checked the shape. His hands were steady. His heart… less so.
“So what,” Buck said finally, “you just wanted someone to look after you a little?”
Eddie didn’t move. “Yeah.”
Buck nodded. Looked down at the cut. Brushed off the neckline. The knot in his stomach was slowly untying itself.
“Well,” he said, softer now. “You picked the right guy.”
Eddie was quiet for a moment.
Buck brushed off the last few hairs with a wipe of the towel, reaching for the mirror to show him the back, like always. But Eddie didn’t look in it right away.
Instead, he asked, “You free next week?”
Buck blinked. “Why?”
Eddie shrugged, casual but careful. “Thought I’d make you dinner.”
Buck’s fingers tightened slightly on the mirror. “Like… as a thank you?”
“As an apology,” Eddie said. “For not saying anything sooner. For making you feel like it didn’t matter.”
Buck glanced up, met his eyes in the mirror. “It mattered to me.”
“I know,” Eddie said softly.
Buck hesitated. “I’ve got late shifts most nights next week.”
Eddie nodded. “What about Friday?”
Buck pretended to think about it, even though he already knew he’d move his whole life around if he had to. “Friday works.”
Eddie smiled — not wide, but real. “Alright.”
Buck passed him the mirror. “Cocky.”
“Confident,” Eddie said, already standing.
Buck was spiralling.
He was supposed to be at Eddie’s place for dinner tomorrow night, so naturally, Thursday night, 8:30pm, he’d finally finished his shift and had turned up on Maddie and Chim’s door step, arms full of takeout and beer, spiralling.
Jee was asleep, the monitor blinking quietly on the kitchen counter. The adults were finally on their second drinks, shoes kicked off, takeout containers half-eaten on the coffee table. It was a rare kind of calm — the kind Buck always let himself sink into.
Buck was halfway through a second beer on Maddie’s couch when she asked it. She’d at least let him finish dinner first.
Maddie tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and asked, “So. Any movement on your mysterious barber client?”
Buck blinked. “What?”
Chim, without looking up from peeling the label off his beer bottle, said, “Wait—what client?”
“Shh,” Maddie said, waving a hand at him. “Let the boy speak.”
Buck groaned and tipped his head back against the couch. “Please don’t make this a thing. And he’s not mysterious.”
“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Maddie said. “You made it a thing the second you stood outside that barbershop like you’d just caught your fiancé cheating on you.”
Chim looked between them, confused. “Okay, what am I missing and who are we talking about?”
“Eddie,” Maddie said. “Buck cuts his hair.”
“And?”
“And Eddie’s also a barber,” she said, drawing it out. “Which Buck only found out after cutting his hair eleven times.”
Chim blinked. “Wait… so he’s your client—”
“And also a barber,” Buck muttered.
“And you didn’t know?” Chim asked.
Buck made a face. “Obviously I didn’t know.”
Maddie leaned forward, eyes bright. “And now Eddie’s invited him to dinner.”
Chim looked at Buck, then Maddie, then back at Buck. “I’m sorry, are you dating this guy?”
“No! I don’t think so.” Buck said. Then, a beat later: “No.” He shook his head.
“That’s not how dating works,” Chim said.
“I know that!” Buck gestured wildly. “But it’s been almost a year of haircuts, and it’s never felt like just a haircut. And now he invites me to dinner and I don’t know if that’s an I feel bad I didn’t tell you I’m a barber dinner, or a hey I’ve been flirting with you this whole time but I’m a slow-burn kind of guy dinner.”
“But you want to date him?” Chim asked.
Buck sighed, “Maybe?”
Maddie grinned. “You are so in it.”
“I’m not in anything!”
“You’re in it,” she repeated. “You’ve been spiralling all week, and now you’re here trying to dissect the dinner invite like it’s a second date on a romcom timeline.”
Chim raised a hand. “Okay, just to clarify — have you ever hung out with him outside the shop?”
“No.”
“Do you have his number?”
“Not until he asked last week.”
“Do you want to make out with him?”
Buck went silent.
Maddie laughed. “He’s in it.”
“I hate both of you.”
“You love us,” Chim said, smug.
Buck groaned and slumped lower into the couch. “This is a disaster.”
“It’s not a disaster,” Maddie said. “It’s a dinner. Just go. Be normal.”
“I am normal.”
“Well, you’re you,” she said gently.
Buck narrowed his eyes at her. “That feels rude.”
“Take the compliment,” Chim said, finishing his beer. “If he’s inviting you into his house, he already likes you.”
Buck stared at the ceiling.
Then said, “What if I forget how to eat?”
“You won’t,” Maddie said, patting his arm.
“Or I talk too much.”
“You will,” Chim said. “But maybe he likes that.”
Buck sighed. “I really like him.”
Maddie smiled, all soft and knowing. “Yeah. I figured.”
Buck was nervous.
Not that anyone would be able to tell — at least, that’s what he told himself.
He’d shown up on time, bottle of wine in hand, sleeves rolled to the elbow like he wasn’t trying too hard. Like he wasn’t standing on Eddie’s doorstep running through every possible meaning of dinner like it was an exam.
Eddie opened the door in bare feet and a soft blue t-shirt that matched the colour of Buck’s eyes, and smiled like he hadn’t just changed everything by inviting Buck into his house.
“Hey,” he said, stepping aside. “Come in.”
Buck smiled, easy on the outside. “Something smells good.”
“Hopefully it’s the food.”
Buck laughed — too quickly — and stepped past him into the kitchen.
It was warmer than he expected, all low lights and natural wood and soft edges. Not overly styled. Not showy. Just… lived in. Comfortable.
Eddie moved back to the stove, checking something in a pan. Buck hovered awkwardly for a second before setting the wine on the counter.
“Dinner almost ready?” he asked, already regretting the question.
Eddie glanced over his shoulder with a small smile. “About ten minutes. You want a drink?”
Buck nodded, reaching for the bottle. “I’ve got it.”
They moved around each other like people learning a dance — careful not to touch, but never too far apart. Buck handed Eddie a glass, then leaned back against the counter, sipping his own.
“So,” he said, “is this a thank-you dinner, or a make-up dinner?”
Eddie looked over at him, brow raised. “What if it’s a little of both?”
Buck hummed around the rim of his glass. “Guess I can live with that.”
Dinner was simple — roast chicken, potatoes, something green Eddie claimed was salad but felt more like an excuse to chop herbs into lemon dressing. It was good. Like, really good. Buck tried not to moan out loud.
“Okay,” he said around a mouthful, “I’m starting to think you’ve been secretly good at everything this whole time.”
Eddie smirked. “You’re just saying that because I cooked for you.”
“No,” Buck said. “I’m saying that because you’re absurdly good at fades — I may have stalked your instagram—,” Buck quickly added at seeing Eddie’s confused look, “—you apparently run a full business without speaking, and now you’ve fed me the best chicken I’ve ever had.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “High praise.”
Buck grinned. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
It was easy, after that. The food, the wine, the soft rhythm of conversation that settled into place like they’d done this before. Like it wasn’t the first time Buck had sat at Eddie’s kitchen table and slowly fallen apart over dinner.
At some point, Eddie stood to clear the plates and Buck offered to help but Eddie wouldn’t let him. So Buck just leaned back in his chair, watching the way Eddie moved — quiet, deliberate, bare feet padding around the kitchen floor.
Eddie caught him staring, “What?”
Buck shook his head. “Nothing.”
Except it wasn’t nothing. It was everything.
The way Eddie smiled. The way he listened. The way his shirt clung just enough when he leaned across the table to refill Buck’s glass, and how Buck couldn’t stop pushing his hair out of his eyes every time he tried to look away.
It was just past ten when it finally happened.
Buck ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time, trying to tame a curl that kept falling over his forehead. He didn’t notice Eddie watching him until he felt the stillness — the way the room quieted around them, like the air had paused mid-step.
“You keep doing that,” Eddie said.
Buck blinked. “Doing what?”
“Your hair,” Eddie said. “You keep pushing it back.”
Buck shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. It’s getting long. I’ve been meaning to—”
Eddie stepped forward. Just one step. Close, but not too close.
“Let me,” he said gently, reaching out and catching Buck’s wrist before his hand could move again. “I think I finally owe you one.”
Buck’s breath hitched — not visibly, but Eddie knew.
And for once, Buck didn’t say anything.
He just nodded.
Buck didn’t move right away.
Eddie just looked at him, calm and steady, then reached for a chair and said, “Wait here.”
Buck watched as Eddie walked off, chair in hand, disappearing down the hallway.
He could hear it — the soft scrape of wood against tile, the quiet clatter of drawers opening and closing, something being set out on the vanity. A gentle kind of preparation. Like this was something he’d thought through. Something that mattered.
When Eddie came back, he didn’t say anything at first.
Just stopped in front of Buck and held out a hand.
“Follow me.”
Buck’s breath caught — not visibly. Not much. But he let Eddie take his hand and guide him down the hall like it was nothing.
The bathroom was softly lit. The chair had been placed just in front of the mirror, angled slightly. The counter was cleared except for a few tools — a comb, scissors, a clipper set, laid out neatly like he’d done it a thousand times.
Buck stood there for a beat, unsure.
“Sit,” Eddie said, quiet but sure.
Buck sat.
Eddie didn’t move right away.
Then: “Shirt off.”
It wasn’t a question. Just a quiet instruction, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Buck didn’t hesitate. Just reached for the hem and pulled it over his head, dropping it over the edge of the bathtub.
Eddie didn’t say anything.
But his eyes lingered.
He stepped in behind him, running his hand once through Buck’s curls, brushing them back off his forehead.
“You’ve been putting this off,” Eddie said, fingers combing through the thick weight at Buck’s crown.
“Been busy,” Buck replied, voice thinner than he meant it to be.
Eddie hummed. “You look good like this.”
Buck blinked.
“I meant you shirtless,” Eddie added, quieter now. “Your hair is still too long.”
Buck laughed — soft, surprised.
“How short?” Eddie asked, leaning against the counter in front of him, meeting Buck’s gaze, arms folded, clippers in hand — calm, casual. Like this was just another haircut.
Buck looked up, and met Eddie's eyes.
“I trust you,” he said.
Eddie didn’t smile.
But his eyes softened. He pushed off the counter and stepped behind Buck, settling a hand at the crown of his head.
The first pass of the clippers made Buck’s breath catch — not from nerves, but from the sudden heat of it. The low buzz against his neck. The press of Eddie’s palm, steady and close. His skin prickled under every touch, fire running along every nerve ending.
It had been so long since anyone else had cut his hair.
So long since he’d let someone close like this — not just physically, but with intention. With care.
Eddie was slow, deliberate. He worked the clippers clean up the sides, hand firm against Buck’s jaw each time he tilted it for better access. The cut hair fell down his neck, across his bare shoulders, clinging to the skin along his chest and back.
Buck didn’t care.
He was barely breathing.
Eddie switched to the other side, one hand tilting Buck’s chin again, the other pushing the clippers through thick curls in long, even strokes. His touch was steady, practiced — but every brush of fingers, every slow adjustment, landed like a strike.
It wasn’t just professional.
It wasn’t just care.
It was something else now. Something charged and hot and humming just beneath the surface.
The scissors came next — Eddie running the comb through the top, lifting sections, trimming the weight off slowly. He leaned in close to see the angle, to check the length, and Buck could feel the warmth of him at his back.
He stayed still — not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
Because moving would break something.
Eddie’s thumb brushed behind his ear again, slower this time. His hand lingered at Buck’s jaw. The edge of his knuckle grazed his neck.
Buck swallowed. His chest ached with it.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare.
The sound of the scissors was soft. Precise.
Eddie kept going — silent, focused — but every movement felt deliberate now. Measured. Like he knew what he was doing, and exactly how it was landing.
Like he wanted Buck to feel it.
And Buck did.
Every second of it.
Eddie moved with purpose, steady and quiet, finishing the blend with a few careful snips. The scissors made soft, rhythmic clicks, his fingers brushing Buck’s temple, his jaw. He tilted Buck’s head with one hand, guiding him where he needed without a word.
It could have been clinical.
It wasn’t.
When he was satisfied, Eddie set the scissors down on the counter in front of Buck — just past the edge of the sink. Buck tracked every movement, watching him as he reached, slow and calm, for something else.
The straight razor.
Eddie didn’t rush. He flicked the blade open, checked the edge. Reached for a small bottle of oil, added a few drops to his palm, and warmed it between his hands before rubbing it gently into the skin on Buck’s neck. The scent — cedar, sharp and clean — hit the air like a pulse.
Buck sat still, back straight, heat blooming just beneath his skin.
Eddie stepped in behind him again.
“Lower your chin,” he said, voice soft. Not a command. A quiet kind of care.
Buck did as he was told.
Eddie’s palm settled lightly at the back of his head, guiding him into place. His other hand moved up — fingers warm, thumb brushing the edge of Buck’s temple to steady him.
The blade met skin just beneath the hairline — smooth, precise.
Every pass was controlled. Clean. Buck could feel the heat of Eddie’s breath against the back of his neck, the slow exhale as he focused, the whisper of metal against skin. He could feel the hum of it all the way down his spine.
It was nothing.
It was everything.
Eddie’s fingers shifted slightly, brushing behind Buck’s ear as he cleaned the edge there, and Buck felt it — the soft drag of touch, the deliberate stillness in Eddie’s body.
Then—
Something else.
Something quieter.
The faintest press of lips to the top of his head.
Not a mistake. Not a slip.
A choice.
Buck’s eyes closed. His breath hitched. And suddenly, everything in his body was alive.
The razor moved again — slower now, smoothing out the curve at the nape, working downward in a clean, practiced arc. Eddie’s touch never wavered. His hands were sure. His silence was loaded.
Finally, the razor pulled clean. Eddie wiped his skin gently with a cloth, fingers dragging slow behind Buck’s ear, down to the hollow where his neck met his shoulder.
Buck’s eyes fluttered closed.
He didn’t mean to.
He just… needed a second.
Everything in his body was lit up, humming beneath the surface.
He wanted to lean back. Wanted to turn his head. Wanted to reach.
But he didn’t.
Because Eddie was still moving — calm, careful — as if none of it had shifted. As if Buck’s skin wasn’t on fire from nothing but the shape of his hands and the soft exhale of breath against his spine.
And that—
That was almost worse.
Eddie didn’t step away when he was done.
Didn’t say there you go or all finished or anything that might’ve signaled this was over.
Instead, he moved in front of Buck, slow and deliberate, and reached down to tip his chin upward. His fingers were warm where they touched — one hand cradling Buck’s jaw, the other gently turning his head from side to side.
Inspecting.
Admiring, maybe.
Buck stayed still. He didn’t know what he was waiting for — just that he wasn’t ready to move. Not yet.
Eddie seemed to know.
He let go of Buck’s chin, but didn’t step back. Just reached down, took Buck’s hand in his, and brought it slowly up behind Buck’s head — arm extended slightly backward, helping him feel the shape of his own haircut.
“Feel that,” Eddie said quietly.
Buck’s fingers brushed over the freshly clipped undercut — short and soft, still warm from Eddie’s hands. His breath caught, shoulders sinking slightly with the release of something he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto.
Eddie didn’t move away.
He kept his hand on Buck’s, steadying him, guiding him slowly through the motion — fingertips dragging through the close crop at the nape, along the curve just behind his ear. Their hands touched. Brushed. Held, maybe.
Buck didn’t speak.
Didn’t know how to ask for more without saying too much.
Eddie waited. Still touching him. Still close.
“You okay?” he asked, low and quiet.
Buck nodded.
And when Eddie loosened his grip — not pulling away, just giving him the option — Buck didn’t let go.
Buck didn’t let go.
Neither did Eddie.
They stayed like that — hands entwined gently at the back of Buck’s head, skin warm, eyes on each other — for longer than either of them probably meant to.
Buck’s voice was rough when it came.
“I don’t want to go.”
Eddie’s thumb brushed along his knuckles. “Then don’t.”
Buck swallowed, searching his face. “What are we doing?”
Eddie’s expression didn’t change. Just the smallest shift — something quieter around the eyes. Something tender.
“I think we’re finally stopping pretending,” he said.
Buck’s heart thudded.
Eddie let go of his hand only to reach up — slow, open — fingers brushing gently through the longer curls on top of Buck’s head. It wasn’t to check the cut. It wasn’t to admire his work.
It was just to touch.
Buck tilted his head into it.
Eddie stepped in close, standing between Buck’s knees now, thumb ghosting across his temple. “You sure?”
Buck nodded. Then, just to be clear: “Yeah.”
Eddie leaned down slowly, eyes never leaving his. One hand still in Buck’s hair, the other coming to rest against the bare line of his shoulder, fingers slipping around the back of his neck.
Buck met him halfway.
The kiss was soft at first — careful, warm, all breath and stillness. Just the press of mouths and the unspoken relief of finally getting there.
Then Buck shifted forward, fingers curling into Eddie’s shirt, and the kiss deepened.
It stayed gentle — but there was nothing uncertain in it now.
Eddie kissed like he knew exactly what Buck needed.
And Buck — god — Buck let him.
When they pulled apart, it was barely an inch. Eddie’s thumb brushed across Buck’s cheek, and he smiled — not wide, not smug. Just real.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he said.
Buck huffed a quiet laugh, eyes still closed.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
It had been two weeks since Eddie cut his hair in the bathroom.
Long enough for the shape to grow out a little. Long enough for Buck to want it cleaned up.
Not long enough for him to stop thinking about it.
He’d told himself it would be fine — just a haircut. Just Eddie, at work. Just another appointment. He booked it under his own name. He didn’t show up early. Didn’t hover.
Still.
The second Eddie opened the shop door and smiled at him — that smile — Buck knew he was in trouble.
“Hey,” Eddie said, nodding toward the chair. “You’re up.”
Buck stepped in, shrugged out of his jacket. Sat down.
Tried not to think about the last time he’d done this shirtless.
Eddie draped the cape around his shoulders, clipped it at the back. “Same as last time?”
“Yeah,” Buck said, already shifting under the weight of the memory. “Unless you had notes.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m here to critique my own work?”
Buck grinned. “I think you’re capable of playing the long game.”
That earned him a small huff of laughter. Eddie reached for the clippers. “Keep still.”
Buck did — mostly.
It wasn’t the same as that night in the bathroom. The lights were brighter. The air smelled like aftershave and disinfectant, not wood oil and soap. There were people passing by outside the window.
But Eddie’s hands were the same.
Steady. Intentional. So familiar it made Buck’s chest ache a little.
They didn’t talk much through the first half of the cut. Just the soft hum of the clippers, the occasional tilt of Buck’s head under Eddie’s hand.
Then, as Eddie moved to adjust the cape — just brushing the hair from the back of Buck’s neck, his fingers a little slower than necessary — Buck exhaled, quiet.
“I can’t kiss you as freely when you’re doing this in public,” he said.
Eddie’s hands stilled — just for a second. Then they kept moving, brushing gently along the back of Buck’s neck.
“No,” he said. “But at least I still get to touch you.”
Buck looked up at him — really looked — and smiled.
“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”