#i was trying to cut my own hair and my mom’s professional hairdresser scissors slipped lol. bled like a mf | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yay-yas · 8 years ago

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Platinum

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The metallic click of the scissors cut through the heavy, summer air. Katsuki Yuuri’s face contorted in concentration as he carefully trimmed the hair of the little boy that was currently at his station. Low jazz music travelled through the humidity from the round brass speakers mounted on the wall, complimenting the speakeasy style of the barber shop. Dark, damask wallpaper was interrupted at intervals along the wall with large, gold-framed mirrors, in front of which sat a variety of different, vintage-style barber chairs. All of this made the summer heat feel all the more intense, and the classic 1920s feel was counteracted by the casual summer clothes the barbers were wearing beneath their dark grey aprons.

The air con had cut out on them two days ago, and working in New York City in this heat was virtually impossible. But this was a family owned business that couldn’t afford to close while they were placed on a 4 day waiting list for an engineer to sort out the problem. Instead, they compromised; Celestino, who owned the shop, allowed the barbers as many breaks that they needed, and they didn’t have to wear their usual, stifling, smart uniform. It was mid summer, and of course the shop was fully booked. So far today, Yuuri had had at least seven clients, and it was barely afternoon. He wiped the sweat from his brow, before kneeling in front of the blonde head in his chair. The little boy stared deep into Yuuri’s eyes, making him feel slightly uncomfortable as he gently pulled the front strands through his fingers, using a thin blade to graduate a fringe. The kid wasn’t older than five; Yuuri knew this because he was a regular. His name was Leo, and he was adorable. Every time he came for a cut, Leo’s mother insisted on this same choppy hairstyle that was much older than the child. Still, the mother was adamant that this was the style his hair was to be. In this heat, Yuuri would have opted for short hair on the sides, leaving a longer mop on the top. Leo’s hair was naturally wavy, so it would have looked stylish without looking thin. But the mother, who was in charge of the entire operation, demanded the boyband hair style, so of course Yuuri had to oblige. Still, he tried not to make eye contact as he trimmed the currently straight, wet hair, nodding his glasses back onto his face so that he didn’t accidentally snip at the poor child’s nose. The frames were hot, and slid too far down his nose purely because of the sweat. Yuuri felt disgusting, but he tried to push the thought aside as he finished up the trim. The blades in his hands were slipping, so he wiped his hand on his apron to try and retain some grip. He had been putting off the inevitable, but now he had to fully style the poor boys hair. The hairdryer whirred into life, pumping more uncomfortably hot air into the surroundings. Yuuri’s hands worked quickly, shaking the soft strands as fast as possible, the hot air burning his fingers. God knows how the kid must have felt, but after five long, sweltering minutes, the hair was finally dry. Leo cheered, squirming on the leather seat, eager to finish up. He knew he was coming to the end, and Yuuri, though not visibly squirming himself, was looking forward to his break afterwards. “Now, what comes next?” Yuuri kneeled down to speak to the child, who pondered the products that were lined up in front of the mirror. “Erm… green one?” His stubby little finger pointed at a tub of styling gel, and Yuuri nodded. “Yep, and the purple one,” he grabbed the purple spritz bottle, spraying cool conditioner into the sandy strands of hair that he shook out with his fingers. The boy still squirmed, his bare legs sticking to the leather seat. “Almost there, Leo. Maybe your mom will get you an ice cream after?” Yuuri smiled, carefully teasing the bangs downwards. He nodded, confirming that he was done. Immediately, Leo jumped out of his seat and dodged the other barbers to meet his mom, who had moved one of their seats just outside the door. He jumped into her arms, and shook away all the careful styling Yuuri had attempted. He wasn’t too mad, though. Leo was only five, after all. “Thank you so much, Yuuri, it’s perfect as always. But I bet you’re just exhausted working in this heat,” Leo’s mom fanned herself with a leaflet from the shop, while she fished through her purse for a little wallet. Her short red hair fell down in front of her sunglasses, and Yuuri noticed her roots needed a touch up. Shaking the thought, he just shrugged. “I’m on a break now, and I’m planning on sticking my head in a bucket of ice,” he half-joked as she slipped a couple of $20 bills into his sweaty palm. “That’s for you, not the tip jar. Go and get a frappe or something,” she waved off his attempt to hand one back, taking her sons hand and walking from the store. “Thanks again,” Yuuri called, slipping one of the bills into his back pocket before handing the other over to Sara Crispino, the girl working the register. “Another happy customer. I’m sure she has a crush on you, she won’t let anyone else cut her baby’s hair,” Sara giggled, slipping the note into the large, antique register. It dinged as she did so, and she started writing a note on the open plan calendar that stretched the length of the desk. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a clumsy braid that stretched down below her shoulders. Some strands had fallen loose, but she tucked those behind her ears as she scribbled. Yuuri was constantly offering to style it for her, but she always refused. After a long, hot moment, Sara nodded a confirmation to herself. “You’ve got ten minutes until your next client. It’s a bleach, but given the heat situation, take 20 and I can get Emil to prep,” she had already waved over the intern, who had been sweeping away the hair that was scattered around Yuuri’s station. Yuuri nodded gratefully, dropping his apron on the counter and ducking out of the store onto the busy sidewalk. He took a left, walking towards the cafe where his best friend worked at the end of the street. Heatwaves bounced off the tarmac, yellow cabs emitting their own radiation as he walked past. Still, there was at least a light breeze out here, and it did cool his sweat-covered skin slightly. The coffee shop was empty. Across the street, Yuuri could just see through the fence into Central Park, which was heaving with families and professionals enjoying a sun-soaked lunch break. The heat was hurting his head. He pushed open the heavy door, stunned by the cool blast of air that hit his face when he did. His shoulders relaxed as he stepped further into the cool, granite space. There were a couple of people scattered around the shop, one typing feverishly on a laptop, the other quietly sipping a steaming cup. A pop song travelled over the counter, which was deserted. Yuuri stepped up, and leaned over, calling out into the open storage cupboard. “Phichit?” He asked. He was tempted to rest his head against the counter, which was cool on his palms, but he refrained, sure that it was some sort of health code violation. After a crashing sound, Phichit Chulanont hopped out of storage, two milk jugs in hand. His hair stuck up slightly, and his bright grey eyes beamed at the sight of his best friend. “Hey. Usual?” He didn’t have to ask, and had already started pouring out the coffee. Yuuri helped himself to one of the muffins on the counter, and while Phichit blended, he took a seat and closed his eyes, resting his head on the table. He loved working as a hairdresser, especially as it kept him busy. He was one of the most talented barbers in New York, as proudly displayed in the shop by the first place certificates he had won in various competitions across the city. Yuuri’s days were always fully booked, but he had had to pass on a couple of clients during the heatwave. It was impossible for him to work at his usual pace, and it was frustrating but necessary. He would rather give 100% to fewer clients, than collapse by 3pm having ruined two dye jobs and a close shave. Today had been the exception to the rule, though, as his boss was off for the day. Phichit placed two large drinks in front of Yuuri, one was an iced macchiato, the other a vanilla bean frappe. After ringing him up, Phichit handed him his change, and rejoined him at one of the tables closest to the counter. “Won’t you get in trouble?” Yuuri asked, gratefully sipping the iced drink. The cool liquid sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, cooling him instantly. Phichit just laughed. “You know I’m already done, just waiting for Mila to take me off shift,” Phichit shrugged, helping himself to a sip of Yuuri’s frappe. “Still no air con?” Yuuri shook his head, agitating his headache. It felt like his brain was rattling around behind his skull, and an uncomfortable pressure was building behind his eyes. “That’s awful, surely it’s against the law?” Phichit rummaged in his apron, before pulling out a couple of loose aspirin without being asked. Yuuri begrudgingly took them dry, before shaking his head again. “We can’t afford to shut up for two days, and it’s not that bad. Celestino is the best boss I’ve ever had, we’re taking it easy,” Yuuri mused, again sipping his coffee. “That won’t matter if you all collapse. So, what have you got next?” Phichit stood up as he asked, slipping behind the counter to serve the couple that had just walked in. “Bleach, god knows why in this weather. I’m sure it won’t take properly in this heat,” he replied, glancing at his watch. He still had ten minutes of his break. “He’s there now, waiting, but Emil is prepping.” “How is the new kid?” Phichit asked as he poured out the smoothies he had blended, handing them over carefully. Yuuri shook his head. “He’s alright. Some days he’s super confident, the next he looks like a lost puppy. And he has a major crush on Sara, and you know what Mickey’s like. Remember when I brought her here?” Yuuri chuckled at the memory of Michele Crispino, one of the other barbers in the shop, practically smashing through the glass doors of Phichit’s cafe because Yuuri had dared to bring his precious sister out for lunch. After teasing him about it for a week, Sara managed to calm him down enough so that he didn’t threaten to cut Yuuri with his razors whenever he made eye contact, but that didn’t stop him from glaring protectively whenever anyone approached his sister. Phichit also laughed, recalling the barrage of Italian swear words both he and Yuuri had been subject to last September. He had finished serving now, and slumped in the chair opposite Yuuri, who had finished his muffin and was almost finished on his first iced drink. Running his fingers along the edge of the plastic cup, collecting condensation, he sighed. One more client, the longest of the day. And it was a dye job, not only that, a bleach. He wasn’t looking forward to the next couple of hours, sucking in the awful fumes in the stifling shop. When Yuuri had finished his second drink, Phichit grabbed him one of his stashed water bottles that he had frozen during the day, ringing it up on his employee card, before dropping his apron on the counter and leaving with Yuuri. As they left, Phichit’s red-haired colleague bolted past, sweeping past them and into the green apron before the door had even swung shut. Together they walked lazily back to the barber shop. Phichit was scrolling through his social media, while Yuuri mentally prepared for his next client. It had been a while since he had been booked for a full dye, but he was sure he could still remember the measurements despite the mild heatstroke pressing in his temples. Before either of them had started talking again, they were outside the shop. Phichit glanced into the open door, and let out a gasp when he caught sight of who was at Yuuri’s station. Yuuri blinked, rubbing his eyes and pushing his glasses up his sweaty nose, taking in his next client. A tall man was stood behind his chair, admiring the leather with his slender fingers. He was wearing a pair of stone grey shorts, with a white polo shirt buttoned right to the top. On his head sat a pair of tortoiseshell Raybans, and he was lazily scrolling thorough his iPhone, patiently waiting for his hairdresser. As he did so, his slender arms flexed involuntary, hinting at muscular. He was beautiful, truly stunning, pale against the shadows of the store. And Yuuri vaguely recognised him. “You do know who that is, don’t you?” Phichit had grabbed Yuuri’s arm, but immediately regretted the transfer of heat. Yuuri looked again, before turning to Phichit. “It’s not, it’s not that Russian guy? On TV?” He glanced back into the shop briefly, ignoring the noises of disbelief from Phichit. “That Russian Guy? Yuuri, that’s Victor Nikiforov. He’s a world renowned fashion designer," Phichit said incredulously. Yuuri clicked his fingers. “He’s on those shows we watch on a Sunday morning?” Yuuri glanced again. Unfortunately, Victor also looked up at that time, and raised a hand in greeting. A blush that had nothing to do with the heat crept up Yuuri’s neck, and he decided he couldn’t well stand on the street for the rest of the afternoon. “Please, please, can I come and get his autograph?” Phichit tried to follow Yuuri into the shop, but Yuuri blocked his path. “No,” he asserted, nudging a disgruntled Phichit back onto the sidewalk. Pouting, he walked out of view, and Yuuri turned to Sara. She was trying hard not to keep staring at Victor, and there was an unfamiliar hush on the shop floor. The other barbers and their patrons were glancing in the mirror occasionally, but for the most part Yuuri could only hear the whir of the two large fans and the hip hop beat now resonating from the speakers. “He insisted on waiting for you,” Sara whispered, handing over an apron. Yuuri nodded. He didn’t even realise this guy was a celebrity until Phichit mentioned it, but now that he recognised him, he felt nervous. True, Phichit knew a lot of ‘celebrities’ that Yuuri didn’t, but the hush in the store made him feel uneasy. It didn’t help that he was incredibly attractive, either. Slipping the apron over his head, he willed the flush in his cheeks to die down as he fumbled with the straps. As he approached his station, and Victor looked up at him, the butterflies in his stomach erupted into life, rising in his chest. His fingers gripped his ice water, grateful for the cool pressure. “Good afternoon. I’m Victor Nikiforov,” he held a hand out to shake, which Yuuri took. It was warm, but not clammy, unlike Yuuri’s. “Nice to meet you. I’m Yuuri Katsuki. Sorry I kept you waiting,” Yuuri said, surprised that it didn’t come out as a mutter. Victor just waved his apology away. “Not at all. It’s too hot to be mad at you. Why is it so hot in here?” He asked, looking up at the large vents that usually provided the air con. “It broke a couple of days ago. We’re waiting for an engineer,” Yuuri pulled the plastic cover off his seat as he spoke, and gestured that Victor should sit down, which he did. Gracefully, Yuuri threw the cover over Victor, carefully fastening the clasps at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t help but brush the skin with the back of his fingers. The skin was soft, Yuuri could tell that even in the brief contact above his coarse collar, and it recalled the flush in his cheeks once more. He was acting like a schoolboy, and he needed to snap out of it. “It sure is warm in here,” Victor laughed, playfully pulling at the plastic around his neck. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stain your clothes or your skin with the dye, and it drips,” Yuuri apologised for the second time in two minutes. He turned and waved Emil over, pointing at the fan he wanted him to bring to his station. Emil just turned on the spot, glancing behind him to see what Yuuri wanted. This did not go unnoticed by Victor, who let out a low chuckle to himself. “It’s okay, I don’t need that big thing. I’ll survive,” he insisted, but Yuuri shook his head. “I need to make sure the mixture doesn’t do anything weird in this heat,” he smiled in the mirror, briefly making eye contact before stalking towards the fan. “Oh, you wanted the fan? Why didn’t you say?” Emil placed his broom against a wall and helped Yuuri drag it across the floor. It made a terrible noise as the metal scratched along the stone floor, causing the entire room to wince. Eventually, Yuuri was satisfied with the angle of the fan, grateful that he could use the dye as an excuse to be near to it. It didn’t offer much cold air, but it did help slightly. The aspirin had kicked in, alongside his double caffeine intake, so he could focus more clearly on the task at hand. Gently, his fingertips brushed through the surprisingly soft grey hair on top of Victor’s head. It was in a fantastic condition, considering the colour it was dyed. While the ends were a little dry, the main body of the hair retained its volume and thickness while yielding slightly to Yuuri’s touch. The roots were slightly darker than the rest of the platinum hair, and close to the scalp Yuuri could see the yellow blonde tones that Victor wanted covering. “Your hair is in a fantastic condition,” Yuuri confirmed, gushing slightly. “Thank you. I take great care to maintain it,” Victor nodded. He made eye contact in the mirror again, smiling when Yuuri’s eyes darted back down to his hair. “So, do you do this yourself?” Yuuri turned to beckon Emil back over as he asked, so he missed Victor shaking his head. “No, but my hairdresser has had to go back home for a couple of weeks, and I have a promo shoot for my new show next week, and, well, you were featured in GQ last month as a rising star, and I just had to see for myself. Besides, you were the only barber willing to touch peroxide,” Victor laughed, the sound ringing loudly above the music. Of course, the only feature Celestino insisted on accepting to promote Yuuri’s 4th consecutive national award was in a prestigious magazine read by millions. Yuuri had posed in front of this very seat awkwardly, pretending to cut his boss’s hair for the photographs. He had hated every minute of it, but it must have done the trick, as the clientele had shifted slightly. Vaguely familiar faces had started trickling through the doors, and of course Yuuri was always fully booked out. Victor, however, was by far the most famous face. Emil now appeared at his arm, pulling on his apron strings, urgently nodding towards the mixing room. Yuuri sighed and excused himself, following Emil, who had prepared four separate bowls of bleach, none the right consistency or colour. “I can’t remember,” he said, flipping through the ratio book. Yuuri closed the book for him, and pointed at the correct powder container. “This one, and then this one. Make sure you don’t overfill with the powder, because it expands. And it must be this colour,” he said gently, swiftly combining the ingredients and creating a pale blue, powdery foam. Emil nodded, but still held his head low. “Don’t worry,” Yuuri insisted. “I wish I still had the photos of my sister’s hair when I was practising. You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t you mix me some platinum? 10,2, on the top shelf, three to one ratio,” Yuuri clapped Emil’s shoulder, and the apprentice smiled. “Okay, I’ll try,” he nodded. Yuuri continued to mix as he walked back to his station, trying to breathe through his mouth. The heat intensified the chemical smell from the pot, and he wished he had grabbed a mask. Still, with hair as light as Victor’s, it probably wouldn’t need that long to take properly. Carefully, with one hand, he used a thin comb to part Victor’s hair, alternating between the brush and the comb to quickly coat Victor’s roots with the bleach. It took him ten minutes to completely cover the yellow, and the second he was done, he pulled his phone out to set a timer. Victor started panting, shaking his head, causing Yuuri to almost throw the chair back in blind panic. Michele glanced over, clippers buzzing against the air. “V-Victor! Your notes said you used Scharwzkopf, what-” he froze when he saw the mischievous glint in Victor’s eye, and he threw his head back laughing again. “Got you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he smirked, wiggling to pull his phone out of his shorts pocket under the apron. Yuuri blinked, brows knitted together in confusion. “Oh, right,” he muttered, slightly embarrassed. “Would you like a drink?” “Water, please, thank you,” Victor was scrolling through his emails when Yuuri left. Michele touched his arm as he passed and raised an eyebrow. Yuuri shrugged, rejoining Emil who was proudly mixing the dye together. “Hey, look at that!” Yuuri grinned, giving him a thumbs up. “Is it right?” He tilted the bowl, and Yuuri was impressed that he had remembered the ratio. He nodded his approval, and grabbed a water bottle from the ice bucket in the corner. When he returned, Victor was leaning on his elbow and admiring the mirrors. “I’m sorry, I was just messing with you. I always used to get my old hairdresser like that, but he used to play along,” Victor smiled apologetically, and it was Yuuri’s turn to wave him off. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit off today. It’s so hot in here, but it’s no excuse,” he reached over Victor to grab his half melted ice water, chugging half the bottle. “It is warm, but the decor doesn’t help. If you had whitewash walls, and perhaps light, plastic chairs instead of these large leather ones, it would feel less stifling in here. But this works really well for the in between seasons, particularly because of the high ceiling,” Victor pointed up. Yuuri had never thought about how the shop was designed. “Yeah, Celestino loves all things '20s. He calls it vintage revival or something, even our uniforms match. Not this,” he motioned at his blue t shirt and denim shirts beneath the apron. “What do you usually wear?” Victor cocked his head, and Yuuri fished for his phone in his pocket. “I couldn’t ever explain it well enough, but, hang on,” he scrolled quickly through his Facebook profile, which was mostly hair-related posts. He found the photo he was looking for, and held the screen in front of Victor, whose eyes flitted between the screen and Yuuri in the mirror. “Wow, they look amazing, and I can totally see it,” he nodded, impressed. Yuuri did like the uniform, which was a pair of black trousers, a purple shirt and either a grey waistcoat or black braces with gold fastenings. Celestino had spared no expense in building his image, and it had paid off. Suddenly, the phone buzzed to indicate the dye was done, so he led Victor to the sinks. When Victor stood up, Yuuri realised he was a whole head shorter than him. When Victor sat down, Yuuri turned the water on and gently sprayed his head with the cool shower. Victor sighed when the water hit his skin, closing his eyes as Yuuri worked shampoo into his scalp, gently massaging the lotion into suds. It had never really crossed Yuuri’s mind to consider how intimate his profession was, but here, now, on this sweltering August afternoon, while he delicately worked the bleach out of this man’s hair, that was the only thing he could think of. He must have washed thousands of people’s hair, but never had he felt like this. Victor didn’t help by sighing a couple of times, relaxing into the dip of the ceramic and looking incredibly relaxed. Yuuri tried to focus on the bleach, but even when he realised he had scrubbed it all away, he continued to work Victor’s hair. After slowly rubbing the conditioner into the roots, and deliberately took his time in making sure it was clear before switching off the water. When he heard the shower head had stopped, Victor squinted up at Yuuri, mouth curled up slightly. “Yuuri, I wish you could wash my hair every day,” he pushed himself up, shaking his hair with the towel that Yuuri offered. Luckily, Yuuri seemed to be the only one who heard this, so he was spared the embarrassment. “Thanks,” he muttered, busying himself with the towels as he gestured that Victor should take his seat. He did, and patiently waited while Yuuri collected the dye from Emil. He sipped the water bottle Yuuri had handed him, and admired his new roots in the mirror. His own hairdresser was being given a run for his money. When Yuuri returned, he had a tray, so he could use both hands to carefully separate the hair and cover it evenly. They sat quietly while he worked, Victor’s blue eyes tracing the delicate movements of Yuuri’s fingers. Involuntarily, Yuuri leaned over him to tilt his chin back, briefly brushing the soft skin of his neck, and Victor held his breath. At this point, most of the store was watching the award-winning hairdresser avidly, including the other clients who were just in for a trim. Sara snapped a couple of photos for Celestino, which she accidentally sent to the rest of the barbers in the store. Yuuri felt his phone buzz but ignored it, focussed as he was on ensuring the colour was even. “Does it burn?” He asked, swiftly wiping a smudge off Victor’s forehead before it settled. Victor shook his head once, and Yuuri nodded. “Good.” It took about fifteen minutes this time to achieve the coverage Yuuri was happy with, so again he set the alarm on his phone before clearing up. As he pushed the colour trolley out the back, he felt the eyes of the room on him, and he nearly ran Emil over, who was walking directly towards him. “Oops, sorry Yuuri,” he chirped, sidestepping the Japanese man as he continued through the store. When in the privacy of the mix room, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through the notifications that popped up. The first was a message from Celestino, telling him he needed to keep Nikiforov at the store until he got there. But how did he know? This was when he saw the work's group chat, which was blowing up with the news that the hottest TV personality was currently in their store, looking rather comfortable with their star barber. Yuuri zoomed in on the photo and nearly dropped the phone; Sara had caught the most intimate moment of the styling. The photo had captured the moment Yuuri had tilted Victor’s head back, their faces visible in the mirror. Sunlight reflected off his glasses, so it wasn’t clear what he was looking at, but Victor’s large eyes were solely focussed on Yuuri. His cheeks were pink, and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. Yuuri’s stomach flipped. He typed out a plea for this to remain strictly between them, and only Sara responded with a winky face. The more he looked at the photo, the more he grew to realise it wasn’t all that intimate. Or so he tried to convince himself. Being a hairdresser meant you got up close and personal with your clients, it was an intimate career, he reasoned, and the thought calmed him slightly. After drinking another bottle of water, his phone rang with the final alarm, so he stepped back out onto the shop floor to lead Victor back to the sinks. He worked quicker this time, scrubbing the hot dye deep into Victor’s scalp so that it washed out of the hair faster. He tried to keep his movements soft, but he knew he had to scrub harder to completely remove the foamy dye. Dark grey washed down the drain, revealing the deep grey hair and roots it had just dyed. Emil really had done a good job with the dye. Yuuri towel dried Victor’s hair himself before blasting it with the high power hairdryer, shaking strands through his hair delicately. Combined with the fan, the hair was dry fairly quickly, but it had poofed out slightly. Yuuri considered it for a moment, amused at the frizziness he had created. Flicking the switch for the straighteners, he quickly spritzed a heat protection at Victor’s head before carefully dragging the ceramic over the hair. He was close to Victor’s face now, gently separating strands and pulling them down over his face. Victor just watched, his eyes following Yuuri’s as he worked. The smell of burnt hair replaced the chemical smell burning in Yuuri’s nose, but it was a smell he liked, weirdly enough. To him, it was the mark of a job well done, and he could actively see the progress he had made. There was a new vibrancy in Victor’s hair, the platinum retaining some semblance of the ash blue colour powder, leaning towards a very, very gentle lilac in the sunlight. Only Yuuri would notice this, of course, and he examined the roots to make sure they had taken the colour correctly, which they had. He was impressed with his work; he never expected it to turn out as well as it always did. After smoothing the final strands of Victor’s hair, he was satisfied with his work. Although there was a nagging feeling in the far reaches of his mind that he had forgotten something important. He ignored this, instead choosing to quickly sprayed over Victor's head with sticky hairspray, gently teasing volume with his fingertips, before slapping the top of the chair. This was the part he loved, watching the client admire the handiwork, especially those that he had never worked with before. Victor leaned towards the mirror, carefully pulling strands in front of his eyes and out into the light to examine the colour. A moment passed before he actually turned in the chair to beam at Yuuri. “Oh it’s wonderful! And the colour, it’s so different,” his eyes lit up as he spoke, and Yuuri smiled sheepishly. “Im glad you like it,” he said. He leaned forward to unclip Victor’s apron, carefully peeling it off his chest. It was hot, and fluttered in the wind from the fan as he shook it out. Victor pulled his phone out and turned back towards the mirror. “Can I post a picture on Instagram? I’ll be sure to tag you, of course,” he had already opened the app on his phone, watching Yuuri in the mirror as he asked. “Erm, sure, I’m usually not in the photos,” Yuuri mumbled, standing carefully to the left but behind the chair. In one swift movement he had slicked his hair back, using some residue from the products he had used on Victor’s hair but ultimately relying on his glasses to hold the sweaty hair back. There was nothing worse than a hairdresser with awful hair themselves, and he could see in the mirror the heat of the day had taken its toll. He smiled, falsely, actively posing for the photo, his eyes looking in the general direction of the blurry reflection of the phone in the mirror. He heard the shutter sound a couple of times before Victor nodded, satisfied. “Fantastic. Well, Yuuri, I’m impressed. You may have put my own barber out of business,” he laughed, standing up and starting towards Sara. “How much?” “That’ll be $90, Mr Nikiforov,” she smiled, inputting the amount into the register. “Ah, well, here, keep the change,” he winked, handing over two crisp $100 dollar bills and turning to Yuuri, who was still at his station. “Thanks again, Yuuri,” he waved, and left the store, crossing the street and turning right. Yuuri hadn’t even noticed that he was the last customer, but he was relieved. Slumping into his chair, he pulled his phone out just as Celestino ran into the store, panting slightly. “You’ve just missed him,” Sara said, not looking up from the register. “Dammit! How was he? Did you do it right?” He demanded of Yuuri. “Yeah, he loved it,” Yuuri smiled. “He loved more than the dye job,” Michele teased, laughing as he unhooked his apron from around his neck. Celestino looked quizzically at Yuuri, who was now blushing slightly. “He’s just enthusiastic, he is on TV,” Yuuri reasoned, earning him a nudge. “Hey, maybe he’ll come back!” Celestino beamed. “His own hairdresser comes back in a couple of weeks, I doubt he’ll be back, but he was lovely,” Yuuri mused, absentmindedly scrolling through his Instagram, searching for Victor’s username. He would have to ask Phichit when he got home. “Well, he left a $110 tip, so I hope he comes back,” Sara dropped the money on the counter for Yuuri, who stared at the notes. “Wow, he must have liked you,” Celestino laughed, grabbing the notes and handing them to Yuuri. Yuuri just shook his head. “Tip jar, we can go out Saturday, if we make it that far. How long until the engineers-” Celestino shook his head, cutting Yuuri short. “Pushed us back til Monday, said that if we’ve managed the past couple of days, a few more won’t hurt, and it’s supposed to cool down by Thursday,” he looked visibly annoyed at this, so Yuuri decided not to push it. Instead, they sat quietly waiting for the clock to hit 5:30, which meant they would be free to leave. Michele had finished cleaning, so he chose to stand at the till with his back to Emil, who was stood near the front, glancing up from his phone at Sara every so often. The other barbers had left halfway through Yuuri’s final job, and they would be in an hour earlier tomorrow to compensate. The second hand slowly crept past the 7, then the 8, guiding the minute hand as it stretched towards the 6. Now they had stopped, the heat grew unbearable, and the final seconds of the day dragged longer than any other. All eyes were now on the clock above the door, watching as finally, the second hand hit 11, and then 12, the minute hand closing the small gap to mark 5:30. “Well, great job. Tomorrow, bring all the water you want, and don’t hesitate to take a break. That means you, Katsuki. I know you hate stopping but I don’t want to be sending you to the hospital with heat stroke, okay? I appreciate you guys keeping us open. I’ll be in first thing, so if you feel unwell please call and let me know,” he looked around at his employees with a soft smile on his face, proof that he genuinely did care. The barbers and Sara barrelled out the door, Yuuri in particular keen to get home. It had been a long day, and tomorrow he knew he had much of the same to look forward to. After walking the short distance to his apartment block, and taking the elevator to his floor, he fumbled with his keys. As he stood in the doorway, his limbs ached for the cool shower that was waiting on the other side of the door. The metal slipped between his fingers, but he eventually managed to push through the fog to open the door. As he stepped into the apartment, grateful for the cool air that hit his face, he paused. Then he remembered. “I forgot to cut his hair!” -!- When the sun came up the next morning, it was hidden behind a thick blanket of heavy, humid cloud. Yuuri woke to dense raindrops tapping at his window, and grey light shining through the glass. He blinked at the orange numbers on his digital clock, which stated it was 10:17am. 10:17. He was late. He scrambled to pull on his work uniform, rummaging through his wardrobe panicked before he remembered he didn’t actually need it that day. Throwing on the shorts he wore yesterday, and one of the white t-shirts now scattered on his bed, he grabbed his phone, glasses, and keys before shoving his feet into his tattered Vans, and running through the apartment. A voice called a good morning from the bathroom as the door clicked shut behind him, but he didn’t have time. He ran the whole way to the barber shop, ducking and weaving amongst the bustling street. Celestino was in this morning, and he was sure his first appointment wasn’t until half 10, but he was panicked. Rain spattered against his glasses, and he could barely see when he arrived at the store. Despite the storm, the air was still thick, and Yuuri had sweat straight through his fresh shirt. He was panting, leaning against the shop window to catch his breath. The front door was shut, which was strange, given the fact that the rain actually intensified the heat. As he pushed the large gold handle, he was surprised to be met with a blast of cooling air ruffling his hair. The music was muffled slightly by the whir of the large air con fans above them, generating this refreshing air. Celestino stood behind the counter, leaning over Sara as he talked her through the clients for that day. He looked up and smiled as Yuuri walked in, pointing to the fans. “And thank you for this,” he grinned, clapping his hands together in joy. Yuuri was still confused. “How-?” One of the other barbers piped up. “Your famous friend yesterday organised for his own personal air con guy to come and fix it for us,” JJ said, turning from his clean shave customer. He had foam on his arm, and the knife gleamed as he waved it about. Yuuri noticed that he was in his uniform. In fact, so we’re the other barbers, including Sara, who’s uniform was the same as the barber’s with the addition of a loose silver and purple tie. Yuuri was the only one in his regular clothes. “I see you didn’t get my message, then,” Celestino chided lightly. “I’ll go and change-” again, Yuuri was interrupted. “No time, your next appointment is here,” Sara nodded behind Yuuri at a sombre figure in the rain. He sighed, and reached over the counter for a protective apron. At least that matched. -!- The rest of the day passed without incident, and the next day was essentially the same. Same old clients, with the same old requests for the same bland hair style. Yuuri found himself watching either the clock or the door, waiting for someone interesting to walk in. Someone who he had only half finished the job for. Somebody who, apparently, spent the whole time he was in the shop flirting with him. He sighed, and leaned against the cool shelf just below his mirror, watching the barbers behind him working at their stations, when his vision into the room was blocked by a tall, slender figure. It was Victor, standing with his arms folded and leaning against the back of the chair, pulling it back slightly and lifting Yuuri with it. “Hello, Yuuri. I was on my way home the other day and I realised I’d paid for a cut and colour but only had my colour done! Must have been the heat," Victor laughed, narrowing his eyes naturally with his smile. "Anyway, if you have a minute, I’d love for you to cut my hair." Victor smiled as he spoke, his mouth forming a heart shape around certain words. Yuuri jumped out of his seat and glanced at the clock, before looking at Sara. She searched the calendar, before mouthing that Yuuri had ten minutes. Ten minutes. He’d completed a cut in less time. “I am sorry about that, I realised when I got home but we had no way of contacting you to invite you back,” he said. Victor took his seat, and Yuuri could fully appreciate the light grey jeans, and blue and white striped v neck Victor had chosen to wear. They were both tight fitting, particularly the jeans, and he was wearing the same loafers he had worn the other day. Yuuri threw the same cape over him, and fastened it in the same way he had last time, fumbling slightly with the loose clasp on the end. Again, Victor smiled at him in the mirror, and Yuuri was struck with a weird sense of déjà vu. “I’m glad you didn’t, because now I get to see these dashing uniforms of yours,” Victor nodded his approval at Yuuri’s uniform, slightly concealed beneath his apron. “Oh, thank you. And thanks for the air con,” Yuuri motioned above him with his free hand as he sprayed Victor’s hair with water. He had eight minutes left. “I’m sorry, this might be a little rushed,” Yuuri apologised, pulling strands of Victor’s prominent fringe through his fingers. He pushed his glasses off his face and started to trim, holding the hair between his fingers as he clicked the scissors together. He was close to Victor’s face. Although he could feel his breath on the back of his hand as he worked, the time pressure ensured that he was focussed. He glanced behind him at the clock; six minutes remained. As snippets of hair fell across his shoulders, Victor just watched Yuuri work, amazed that he could work so well at such a speed. His hands worked flawlessly, always threading the right amount of hair through his fingertips before cutting through the split ends. Celestino appeared behind the chair when Yuuri had four minutes left, sweeping as Yuuri moved around the leather. He shaped the hair above the ears, finally brushing the front through his fingers again, feeling for any rogue layers. There were none, so he gave it a quick blast with the hair dryer, shaking with his fingers through the final two minutes he had left. The doorbell chimed just as Yuuri clicked the hairdryer off. Sara clapped, and Celestino patted him on the back as Victor pulled the apron away and admired his reflection. Again, Yuuri had done a flawless job. “Wow, thank you, Yuuri,” Victor grinned, his mouth forming that heart shaped smile over Yuuri’s name. Yuuri shrugged, and Celestino pulled him into half a hug. “Thank you so much for choosing Fitzgerald’s, Mr Nikiforov,” Celestino extended a hand for Victor to shake, which he took. “Would you like a photo? You could put it onto your website, or whatever,” Victor held his phone up, and Celestino clapped Yuuri on the back again. “Yes, let’s. Sara,” Celestino called, beckoning her forward. “A photo, please.” Victor stood in the middle, his arm around Yuuri’s neck as he pulled him closer for the photo. Again, Yuuri pushed his glasses over his head to sweep his hair back, holding the same half smile he had had for the previous photo. Celestino beamed, and Victor flashed his trademark smile. Yuuri could smell Victor’s cologne, recognising it as the one Phichit had bought him for Christmas last year. He flushed a little at the thought, pulling away from the embrace in order to tend to his next customer. “Until next time, Yuuri,” Victor called, waving as he left the store. Yuuri watched him walk out of view beyond the window as he swept the seat of hair. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten away with that. Celestino wasn’t too mad, but it was such a big risk to have taken. He couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though, as his next client had taken the seat, waiting to be styled. -!- The latter part of the week flew by, as it always did for Yuuri. Thursday through to Saturday saw him fully booked with only 20 minutes for lunch. He still watched the door between clients, or washes, hoping that Victor had forgotten something or that Yuuri had forgotten something, but he never did. Instead, Yuuri settled for following his Instagram and Twitter posts, scrolling through the feeds during his lunch break and at home, admiring the work of the designer. His clothes were elegant, and a little eccentric, and for the brief encounters Yuuri had had with him, he could see his personality in the fabric. Most of the models wore the over the top catwalk styles, but links to his website showed the same simple style that Victor had worn himself. A small tab on the inside label with an elegantly embroidered 'V' signified a genuine product, according to Instagram, and his clothes had been sold all across the world. One model consistently popped up in Victor’s photos, a sullen looking teenager with the same name as Yuuri. He very rarely glanced at the camera, often staring broodingly just beyond the lens. Yuuri scrolled past most of these, more interested in Victor’s personal posts, which were few and far between. The most recent was, of course, the photo he had taken post dye, which had accumulated over 20,000 likes, including one from Phichit’s account. By the end of the week, the barber shop was fully booked for a solid month, and they were turning down as many bookings as they were making, all because of a recommendation from V. Nikiforov. The tips that the staff had made throughout the week were spent on Saturday night, as the shop closed an hour early and the barbers were allowed to let their hair loose. That Saturday they decided to hit their favourite bar across the street from the shop, which served delicious cocktails at a reasonable price. Celestino always bought the first round before leaving, allowing the barbers a night to wind down properly. After a couple of drinks, and a long day at work, the barbers were tipsy. The hot, summer night did nothing to help their situation. JJ was teasing Seung Gil, the latest addition to the team, because he had accidentally shaved one boys hair a little too short. Seung Gil was a man of few words, so he simply chose to ignore JJ, who quickly got bored of his game. This lead him to teasing Emil about his obvious crush, and the fact Emil had a large black X across his hand to stop him from drinking in the bar. It didn't help his case with Michele, who usually drank way to much and ended up swinging for anyone who even looked at his sister. Yuuri did get along with the other barbers, and did enjoy their company but he tried not to get roped into the drama. Tonight, he was sat on his phone, just away from the group so that no one could see how far he had scrolled on Victor's profile. As the night wore on, the group broke apart. Emil was the first to leave, and Sara offered to walk home with him. She also had a black mark across the back of her hand, so they were too sober to deal with the rest of the group. They slipped away, unnoticed for the first half an hour of their absence. Seung Gil was next, after JJ latched back into him for attention. He just rolled his eyes and stalked out of the bar, shoving through the crowd rather aggressively. Yuuri tried to make a mental note to try harder with the newest barber, before downing the shot that JJ had just called over for them. Michele refused to do his, instead choosing to call his sister and yell over the loud music that she was stupid and shouldn't have left with Emil. She couldn't hear him. And then Yuuri. His friends were too drunk to notice that he should not have had that final shot. Or taken Michele's. When he was drunk he was prone to making stupid decisions, ones that he would regret the next day. Like the decision to send Victor Nikiforov a direct message on Instagram.

#yoi #Yuri on ice fanfic #barbershop AU #I'm a sucker for an AU okay and I'm sorry not sorry

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