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Fluixon leaned against the counter in silence, while Saparata stood in front of him—hands evenly spreading purple dye on his freshly bleached hair.
It was a spur of the moment thing; Fluixon had nothing to do, was free from finals, and not wanting to go back to his parent's house—he thought of the only logical thing to do: bleach his virgin hair and dye it purple.
Realistically, he knew he should've got it done by a professional, who knew what he was doing and knew it wouldn't damage his hair. The thing is; it was two in the morning, and no hairdresser across 20 miles was open. He resorted to one last thing—person, rather—and asked Saparata to do the process on his hair.
He knew it would take the same amount of time at a regular salon, since Saparata was in his third year of cosmotology, and this was like a free pass to apply his skills—but how could he say no to a one-on-one session with the guy he's been crushing on since freshman year, even more so being alone in a bathroom with him?
He realized that this was his chance to ask him if he was seeing someone, or had an eye on anyone, and if not—he'd ask if he could take him out some time. Well—that was the plan. It has been almost an hour since he'd uttered a single word.
Saparata worked his way through his hair, listening to a random documentary playing on Fluixon's phone—his tongue fixed into a concentrated look. His hands were stained purple from the dye, getting more vibrant as he kept adding more and more onto his palms and onto the strands of his hair. His touch was gentle, and his hands knew exactly where to go, unlike most hairdressers who tugged and pulled at your hair without a thought, as if you were just another customer on another day, which technically—was true.
"Can you look a little more at me?" Saparata asked as he reached for more dye.
Fluixon moved his head, but kept his eyes on everywhere except him. The silence was getting too awkward to bear, and who knew when he'd get a chance like this again, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and braced himself.
"Um.. got anything planned for the summer?" he asked.
Saparata laughed, still applying the hair dye.
"Did you think about saying that for an hour?"
The tip of Fluixon's ears burned faintly red, the silence being his response.
"Not much," Saparata replied. "I'm not flying back home this year. Are you?"
"Nope," was his blatant reply.
Fluixon was never good at holding conversations. Well, making friends, if you will. He had always kept to himself, ate his meals alone, worked solo while everyone else had pairs. Loneliness was his best friend for the majority of his life, until he entered college and met Thomas.
Fluixon was able to explore and meet new people, do things outside of his comfort zone, and express himself in ways he would've never thought of years ago—all thanks to him. Thomas made him learn how to love living again. He was the reason why he was here now, the reason why his friends were fast asleep in his living room—the reason why he was able to ask Saparata to dye his hair for him in the first place.
"How 'bout this weekend?" Fluixon asked. "Got any plans?"
Saparata had a concerned look on his face, almost as if he knew he was going to decline. "Where is this going?"
Flux, goddammit, you were supposed to ask if he was seeing anyone first!
It took him three years to look into his eyes and say,
"Do you wanna.. get dinner with me sometime?"
Saparata stopped in his tracks, his hands pausing in his hair. He let his arms flop down at his sides before looking back at him. His silence was like a no, and Fluixon was ready to accept that.
You blew your shot.
"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Saparata asked, genuinely confused.
Now that was not the answer he was expecting.
"What?"
"I mean, well—" Saparata tried. "The only reason why I agreed to this was because you and I are both friends with Thomas. Like, you're closer to him than I am, and Micro—my brother—is his boyfriend. And of course I would want to get closer to my brother's boyfriend, right? So why not talk his best friend to get more info about him?"
"Plus, it'd be kinda weird to take up the offer of the guy that I like knowing you have a girlfriend, even more so that you’re fully aware of it. I've seen you with her for three consecutive years, maybe you guys go even way before that—which is why I've always kept my distance. Am I missing something?"
For someone who apparently has kept his distance—he sure did say a lot for their first conversation.
"Do you mean Cyn?" Fluixon asked.
"Yeah!" Saparata exclaimed. "I think. I've heard Thomas mention that name along with yours. Is she not your girlfriend?"
Fluixon didn't know whether to laugh or step away.
"That's my sister."
Saparata's face burned red within seconds. "..Huh?"
"She's my older sister—her name's Cynikka. She visits me often to make sure that I'm well," Fluixon explained. "Is that who you're thinking about?"
"Oh my god," Saparata looked down, keeping his eyes on the floor. "This is so embarrassing."
After a long pause of deciding whether to kill himself right on the spot or somehow die in embarrassment, he asked, "Does she have long black hair?"
"She does," Fluixon replied.
"Fuck," Saparata cursed. "I'm so sorry for assuming. That must be so weird for you."
Fluixon laughed. "It's fine."
"But, um, you mentioned.. liking me?"
"Fuck," he said again. "Well, implied. I mean, I still do, but—"
Saparata dumped his hands in purple and started working again. "I'm so sorry. I'll just wrap this up. I'll never assume anything ever again—"
"No, wait," Fluixon said, taking his wrists and lowering them.
It took them one look, one glance, to know what was happening next.
Fluixon closed the gap between them and met Saparata's lips. After three years of pining, the kiss was soft, gentle, and was everything Fluixon ever dreamed of. Saparata cupped his face, pulling him closer, while his own hands found its place at his waist.
Oh, how good it felt to be chosen. To be held by someone you've longed for, after so long. To be kissed by someone you'ved watched from a distance, never closing the gap of unfamiliarity. To know that after all this time—he, too, felt the same way—who felt the same feelings Fluixon would've never dared to confess.
He held him like it was no new thing. Like it was just another day, kissing the man with no restraint, and god—he didn't know how to get used to the feeling.
Saparata held his pace, tilting his head so their mouthes could clash with ease. His hand cupped his cheek, while the other roamed around anything and anywhere he could touch, without making the other uncomfortable. He kissed him like there was no tomorrow, with the same eagerness that Fluixon had, as if to say, 'I've wanted you all this time. And now, I finally have you.'
Somehow, their hot breaths fogged up the mirror, despite it being tundra-cold during dawn. The muffled sounds they shared drowned everything else in the world, and was probably the reason why they didn't notice a certain white-haired man, staring them down at the door that was supposed to be closed.
Micro was groggy, but was conscious enough to register the sight before him. “Saps?”
The two jumped, scattering away from each other, and stood in awkward silence as Micro's gaze scanned them both.
Messy hair, kissed and bruised lips, and.. purple handprints all over Fluixon's body—the culprit being Saparata's hands. There was no need of an explanation.
"When.. did this start?" Micro asked, gesturing at the stains on Fluixon's body.
Saparata choked on this words. "I.. uh.."
He scurried towards the door, pushing Micro out and whispered—trying not to get purple on the handle. "I'll—I'll tell you everything tomorrow."
The door clicked shut, the two glanced at each other, and one smirk was enough for them both to fall into laughter.
The mess on Fluixon was going to be a difficult one to clean up. And the mess awaiting them the next morning did not seem like fun.