Disclaimer: I don't own anything; FFVII belongs to SquareEnix :)
My Insignificant Others: Once in a while, you meet a certain someone. A stranger. A stranger you'll forget after a day or two. Or three. Or years. Whether it be on the street, in a cafe, on the train, anywhere. You're not friends with each other; heck, you don't even know each other. Yet, there's something about this person that captures you, makes you think and ponder about him or her in that 1/1000th of a second.
A collection of short stories focusing on a barmaid named Tifa Lockhart and the different people who had left a teeny tiny mark on her life. Slightly AU and OOC. Each story would focus on a different person with Tifa. No specific pairings.
First story: The Shampoo Boy - Tifa meets a mysterious man with the most intriguing eyes she had ever seen...
Author's note: I got this story inspired by my...haircut. Yes, I just got a haircut a few days ago, and I always find the whole haircutting thing a really self-conscious process. And the hairdressers. They always want to talk to you (while I don't). Yet, their words are friendly and sweet. Quite irritating to be honest. So, here's a story based on my own experience. Enjoy :)
Story 1: The Shampoo Boy
"This-is-kill-ing-ME!" Tifa Lockhart growled as she forcibly pulled her hairbrush down the tangled mess of chocolate-brown hair. "Remind me why I ever wanted damn-long-hairrr!"
She stared at her reflection - her slender brows were furrowed; ruby eyes burning with rage; face flushed; her hand dangling in midair, clenching a brush at the end of her bird's nest hair, fuzzy split-ends flying at odd angles. She breathed out an air of frustration, blowing away a stray strand of her long bangs.
"Time for Johnny," Tifa narrowed her eyes irritably.
Untangling the brush from her hair (despite wanting to just chop the whole mess off with her scissors), Tifa walked down the stairs and into the bar. Her bar. Her Seventh Heaven bar. She was the barmaid, the owner. And she was mighty proud of it.
"Shelke, I'm going out for a bit," the barmaid called over to the waitress behind the counter.
"All right, be careful," Shelke smiled, aquamarine eyes shimmering.
Stepping into the warm spring breeze, Tifa took a deep breath and smiled. The soft wind and the smell of grass reminded her so much of her hometown, Nibelheim. Deciding to give her Papa a call tonight, she started down Edge Main Street, her brown dolphin-tail tip flowing behind her.
A walk down several blocks, Tifa gazed in front of a hair parlor: JOHNNY'S HEAVEN. She hated getting a haircut and would postpone a visit to Johnny's whenever possible. But she desperately needed one. Cursing under her breath, the barmaid pushed the glass door open. A bell rang above her head. Immediately, a nose-tingling scent of shampoo and hair products drifted into her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose. She forgot how much she hated the smell.
Johnny, the owner, hairdresser, and childhood friend, looked up from his magazine and flashed a dazzling smile at the barmaid the moment he saw her. He had a major crush on Tifa.
"Tifa! I was just thinking 'bout ya!" the red-head grinned, giving her a body-crushing hug.
"Oh, sure you were," Tifa smirked.
The hairdresser led her to a chair in the middle of the salon. It wasn't a very large place. Five sets of chairs and mirrors aligned both sides of the parlor. Several sinks lined up the back end, where a door led to a small staff room.
"Now, how may I help you, cutie?" Johnny winked at her reflection.
"Well, I'm planning to cut it all off, 'til right about here," Tifa drew an invisible line below her shoulders, "and my hair's in dire need of a treatment. It's dying." As if to prove her case, her fingers curled the fuzzy ends of her brown hair upwards, which greatly resembled that of dried grass - the ones that would burst into flames if the weather got any drier.
The hairdresser chuckled. "Gotcha. Let's get your hair washed first, shall we?" He motioned someone over as he stepped away to greet a new customer.
Few seconds later, a man with long black hair appeared behind the barmaid. Entirely dressed in black, he was probably just a few years older than her. He had a very well-structured face, with skin as pale as the midnight moon, eyes that are mysterious in so many ways...
Ba-bump.
The man draped a red cape around Tifa and slipped a towel behind her neck. His fingers were cold on her warm skin, sending goosebumps down her spine.
"This way please." His voice was nothing above a whisper, deep and low.
Tifa followed the man toward the back of the parlor, where the black porcelain sinks were. Laying down on one of the reclining chairs, the man ran warm water down her long brown hair, gently massaging her temples.
"Is the water all right?" Again, that same husky voice. Ohmigawd, kill me with that voice..."Miss?"
"Oh, y-yeah, it's fine, thanks," Tifa stammered, feeling her face burning.
Delicately, he washed her hair. The overall hair-washing process wasn't entirely special. But the way this man washed her hair made her heart squirmed. His long boney fingers stroked and rinsed her hair oh-so-tenderly, as if he was afraid to hurt her scalp. The massaging of her temples made the barmaid want to drift to sleep...
A light tap on the shoulder. "All done, miss."
Ruby eyes flew open, long eyelashes fluttering. Clumsily, Tifa stumbled back to her chair, while the man dried away excess water from her long hair. A moment later, he left the woman to stare at her own reflection. Man, I hate staring at myself. Ruby eyes with big eye bags, pale skin with hints of freckles, and dead lifeless waist-length hair with major split-ends. Not nice. Instead, her eyes scanned the mirror in front of her, glancing at different reflections from the other mirrors, trying to get a glimpse of a particular shampoo boy...
Eventually, Johnny appeared behind Tifa again, an amused expression on his face.
"Really doin' it then?" he asked.
"Huh?"
"Your hair. You're really gonna cut it so short?" The hairdresser picked a clump of long dead hair. "Won't you miss it?"
She was more than ready to say goodbye to her long tangled mess of a bird's nest. "Go ahead," Tifa replied boldly, "cut it all off."
"All righty then."
Clip clip clip. Snip snip snip.
Half an hour later, Tifa's new hairstyle was in place.
"I'll be doin' a bit more o' trimming after the treatment," Johnny spoke to Tifa's reflection.
She nodded and admired her new 'do. Dark brown hair two inches below her shoulders, layered at just the perfect places, highlighting her slender face, with bangs falling ever so softly below her red eyes. It was fresh.
Tifa smiled. "I love it."
The hairdresser winked and called over his shoulders, "Vincent," oh, so his name is Vincent, "prepare the W150 paste for me, would ya?"
The man, Vincent, remained silent, though Tifa saw, from the mirror, a wave of his pale hand.
Leaving Tifa on her own again, Johnny went to deal with the other customer. Soon after, Vincent showed up in the mirror again, parking a trolley behind the barmaid. A bowl of white mixture with a brush sat on the cart, along with combs of different sizes.
Staring at their reflection, Tifa observed the man. He was gentle, separating strands of her chocolate-brown hair, painting on the white paste of conditioner, which smelled freshly of green apples. His eyes never left her hair. He was so focused with what he was doing: pulling a length of hair, dabbing the brush with the mixture, coating the hair evenly, running a comb down the brown threads, and finally, repeating the steps with another lock of hair.
I wonder how long he's been working here...
Tifa's ruby eyes flickered upward to the man's face. His thin lips were pursed tightly in concentration. A single diamond earring sparkled on his left ear, slightly hidden behind strands of black. His eyes were red - no, dark, glimmering maroon eyes. A matching maroon-colored band wrapped around his head, with thick strands of hair flipped over, hanging in front of his mysterious eyes. He had the longest, smoothest black hair she'd ever seen for a man. It's even silkier than mine. The ruby eyes moved slowly back to the maroon eyes, those very intriguing eyes...that suddenly flickered to her reflection. Their red eyes met.
Ba-bump.
Heart thumping madly, Tifa snapped her eyes back to her own reflection, mortified. Shades of red crept onto her cheeks. Shit, shit, shit. The pulling and combing of her hair did not stop; the man continued his work intently, as if nothing happened. A few minutes passed before the barmaid allowed her ruby eyes dart to the man's face again. If she was not mistaken, a corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly. A smile, perhaps? Sensing the man's gaze, her eyes dropped back down to her reflection staring straight at herself. Tifa's lips twitched. He's cute.
After applying the paste, Vincent arranged the separate strands of hair to the back of her head. Using a large picks comb, he smoothed the white mixture evenly, combing (and pulling) from the roots. Tifa's head yanked along with his combing, despite that he was being as gentle as he could. She winced slightly.
"Did it hurt?"
The sudden words gave her goosebumps. He spoke with a husky breath, sending cold air down her neck. Not trusting her own voice, Tifa shook her head softly, ruby eyes sparkling with surprise.
Finally, finally, her hair was set for steaming. For thirty minutes. This is going to take forever...Biting her lips, the barmaid stared at her own reflection. The sight of herself made her want to laugh out loud. She was literally wearing a steamed bun on her neck - her hair was bundled up in plastic wraps; hot mist evaporated out of the steamer's "bowl"; all that was left to wait was a yummy tasting chocolate-bun to simmer. Tifa stifled a giggle.
In the meantime, she flipped through magazines while waiting her hair to be "cooked." Once in a while, she caught Vincent's reflection in the mirror in front of her, scanning her, watching her, an aura of curiosity glowing around him. Her heart jumped unbelievably fast at the sight of his maroon eyes. There was something about those eyes that captivated Tifa; it was as if they could see right through her, right into her very soul...
"There you go, cutie," Johnny smiled as he flipped the cape off of the barmaid 45 minutes later.
Appreciating her new hairdo in the mirror, Tifa thanked her friend. She stepped up close to the mirror, dusting off bits of hair pieces on her face. Through the mirror, she could see him. He was just two chairs away down by the far end, washing something in the porcelain sink, his back facing her. She smiled softly at his reflection. Goodbye. Then she walked toward the cashier at the front of the parlor, where Johnny was waiting.
As she pulled out her wallet, she stole another peek at the back of the salon. Vincent was still washing by the black porcelain sinks, though his head turned around to face...Tifa. Their eyes locked. She nearly dropped her purse. Cheeks burning furiously, she fumbled clumsily with her wallet clasp and grabbed several bills out, wanting desperately to disappear in a hole. Shit, I'm embarrassing myself again. She felt his maroon eyes fixed on her. Still. Still?!
"Thank you, and come more often to see me," Johnny grinned, waving.
"T-thank you, g'bye...!"
She turned to the glass door and left the salon, a scent of green apples lingering behind her, sparkling ruby eyes dared not look back at the shampoo boy with the mysterious maroon eyes.
Author's note: For some strange reason, I thought Vincent would make the perfect shampoo boy for this chapter. Hope you guys liked it!