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“And you’re sure you want me to do this?”
Otabek nods, staring at the pair of them in the mirror. His face was stalwart. “I trust you.”
“You’re gonna regret this.”
Yuri turns the hair clippers on, the sound of whirring motors and vibrating blades undulating in the bathroom, echoing off the porcelain tile and the congested walls. He’s about to start, but his hand shrinks away just as the trimmer reaches Otabek's head.
Otabek furrows his brows and frowns at Yuri. “What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing. I just got nervous,” Yuri replies quickly, looking towards the shower to their side. The clippers are still whirring away. “You said a number two guard for the sides and the back?”
“Yes.” Otabek is firm, unwavering. There’s not a hint of doubt in his voice.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with,” Yuri grumbles.
He focuses on Otabek again and moves the clippers towards his head. He stops short though, his hands trembling.
Otabek sighs. “Even if you mess up, we can just shave the rest off. It wouldn’t bother me.” Yuri doesn’t move towards Otabek again.
“You wouldn’t look the same,” Yuri says halfheartedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “It would bother me.”
When Otabek looks in the mirror again, he can see the pink flush that’s spreading from one of Yuri’s cheeks to the other. He reaches back, looking for something--their reflections guide him. Yuri’s ears shoot up when Otabek finds what he’s looking for; he’s always thought Otabek’s hand felt pretty good in his.
“Follow a horizontal line from my left temple to my right,” he says, drawing an imaginary line with his finger. “You’ll do fine,” Otabek finishes with a smile.
Yuri blushes even harder, and even though he’s embarrassed beyond words, he sends a silent thank you prayer to whatever higher power let the two of them qualify for the Grand Prix finals.
“Thanks, Ota.”
He exhales slowly, the full breath pushing any stray hairs out of his eyes.
“You’ll have to let go of my hand though… I need it to keep your head still.”
Otabek laughs; a full, hearty laugh that started in his chest, and he loosens his grip on Yuri’s hand. “See, you know what you’re doing.”
I hope, Yuri thinks.
He makes one final approach towards Otabek’s head. This time, he makes contact. The sound of the clippers changes as it shears off dark wisps of hair. Yuri’s eyes are trained on Otabek, and at some point, his tongue starts to escape from his mouth--a sign of sheer focus. Otabek thinks its cute, but he figures it’s best not to get Yuri flustered now.
“What would you do if I just left your hair like this?” Yuri teases, pulling away from Otabek for a moment.
Otabek turns to get a better look at the thin mat of hairs along the right side of his head, and he chuckles. “Hm, I think it might turn you off a little. I’m not sure I want that to happen,” he says with a simper.
Yuri gulps and tugs at the front collar of his shirt. This guy will be the death of me.
“Forget I asked,” Yuri mutters.
He continues his path across the back of Otabek’s head, everything under the imaginary line getting shaved.
“Thanks for doing this, Yuri. It means a lot.”
“Stop!” Yuri yells suddenly. The clippers turn off, and now Yuri’s head is pressed against the top of Otabek’s, and Otabek’s head feels suspiciously warm. “Stop, stop, stop, stop…” Yuri whines.
Otabek frowns and feels for Yuri’s hand again, finding it much faster this time. “Yuri, what’s the problem?” he asks, his voice dropping lower.
“You!” he retorts. “You’re always thanking me, and it’s bad enough that I let you. Heck, I don’t even know if I’m cutting your hair right now for you or for me.” He pauses. “It’s probably a little of both.”
“Y-Yuri?”
“It’s kinda hard not to fall for a strong guy with an undercut that lets you onto his motorcycle, you know?”
The sound of the clippers comes back, and Yuri has a tight grip on Otabek’s head, and suddenly he’s shaving his head more forcefully now. “You do things to me, Ota,” Yuri complains, his tongue sticking out once again. “It’s not fair.”
Otabek is suddenly crimson, but he doesn’t dare move--not while Yuri has the clippers in his hand. “It’s not like you don’t do things to me, Yuri,” Otabek says, frowning. “Why do you think I even let you onto my motorcycle?”
“I thought you were just saving me from those fans!”
“So I just happened to show up right when you needed help?”
“Y-You were following me?!”
Otabek chuckles. “Of course not. But I saw the crowds of them as I rode through town. I figured you were dying somewhere.” He scratches the rough, recently shortened side of his hair. “I think I was actually pretty lucky for finding you. Gave me a good reason to finally talk with you,” he finishes with a wink.
“Ota!” Yuri moans, and his head ends up on Otabek’s once again.
“You’ve gotta stop stalling and just finish my haircut, Yuri,” Otabek scolds with a joking tone.
“Hey, it’s your fault that it’s taking this long! Just, stay still, will you?”
“I’ve been still the whole time.”
“It’s still your fault!” Yuri grunts and runs the clippers along the left side of Otabek’s hair, getting close to make sure all his lines were nice and even. Content with his work, he shuts off the clippers. “Besides, I’m done now anyway. Do I trim the top with scissors?”
Otabek seems to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “I think I’ll let it grow out a little bit.”
“Cool,” Yuri breathes, leaning against the wall with a huff.
Otabek knows an opportunity when he sees one, and when he sees Yuri against the wall, he can’t help himself. He stands up from his chair and slams his hands on the wall, one on either side of Yuri.
Yuri jumps, but otherwise, his face does not betray him.
“God, you drive me crazy, Yuri,” Otabek complains, staring at the other boy. “I hope you know that.”
“You’re just as guilty,” Yuri mutters, reaching his hands forward and placing them on the sides of Otabek’s freshly shaved head.
The touch is sensitive, but Yuri’s hands feel amazing against his shorn head, and Otabek shivers. He’s unwilling to fight against it, so he wraps his arms around Yuri and pulls him close, bringing his head to his lips. Yuri’s lips are just as soft as his hands, Otabek thinks, and perhaps it’s just what’s needed to counter the roughness of his hair and maybe some other parts of him too.
“Love you, Yuri.”
“Duh,” Yuri mumbles back in between kisses, and Otabek laughs at that. “Love you too, Ota.”
Otabek thinks he needs to let Yuri cut his hair more often.