Tangle me
"My name is Rey. I will be your hairdresser for tonight's event."
The young woman has his chair turned towards him expectantly, and her hands occupied cleaning her combs and brushes, which is a good start. He hates when they hold on to his seat as if he is about to become their possession.
He tugs on the fabric of his slacks and sits, his weight causing the chair to squeak indignantly under him.
"I have instructions for a part to the right, added volume and glossifying the ends. Would that be alright with you, sir, or would you prefer something else?'
He glances at her reflection while she's in the process of neatly arranging the hair products she'll be using on the dresser in front of the mirror. She cuts right to the chase, this one. No unnecessary small talk about the weather, no kissing up to his celebrity ass about his latest movie and how he deserves to get the Oscar tonight. No blushing and shaky hands making him worry about a lopsided hairdo that his PR manager will point out no doubt.
"Your instructions are fine," he mumbles. As if he really has a say in this. They always end up creating what their boss has ordered them to do, like obedient elves dressed in black. His eyes fall on her hairstyle. Three buns, one under the other on the back of her head. Very different, very carefully set and twisted. But with a few wild wisps sticking out of their intended place.
A free spirit, he surmises. He wonders how much makeup she has on. He failed to check as he walked in the room.
"Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea before we begin?" She looks up, catching his eyes in the mirror.
Barely any, he notices, not without surprise. Most of the hairdressers he has come across have their faces plastered in layers of cover up and all the colors of the rainbow fanned on their eyelids. Not to mention the fake, heavy lashes. God, he feels sorry for their lashes.
But not this one. No. Sparkling eyes - green or maybe hazel - and pink lips are the colors lighting up her face. And a few sprinkled freckles on her rosy cheeks that somehow look very enticing as she continues to stare at him through the mirror.
She had asked him something.
"An espresso. No sugar."
She reaches for a phone to place the order, setting one of her wisps behind her ear with slender fingers. No blatant nail polish either. Definitely unique, this one. Perhaps he should start feeling concerned about his hair.
He'd love to see Holdo's face if she messes it up. After the debacle in Barcelona where he forwent his briefs due to the summer heat, he's waiting for another opportunity to arise to piss his PR manager off.
He smirks.
But the young woman - Rey, he reminds himself- is looking away. He'd like to see how easy it would be to break through her professionalism. Crack the serious expression on her face and make her cheeks heat. Maybe he can get an accidental touch by her by the end of their session.
Maybe he can give one too.
He shifts in his seat, trying to hide his growing interest. Thankfully she's in the process of setting a cloth over his shoulders.
She begins to mist his hair. Dampening it in order to facilitate her job. He licks his lips.
She catches it, but looks idly away.
When she begins to run her comb through his hair, he can't help but shut his eyes. God, it feels divine. He has had the most pounding headache since he woke up. Again. It has become a regular occurrence these days - due to his inhumane schedule and fucked up traveling hours. If he hadn't had a blowjob last night, he doesn't believe he would have been able to sleep.
Rey huffs, puffing a strand of hair away from her face. Her comb has come across a knot and she's tugging on it as carefully as she can to untangle it. He hadn't even noticed she had come across such trouble. Her movements are delicate and careful. His headache really appreciates her effort.
"You're not hurting me," he decides to inform her, almost feeling bad for the difficult spot his hair has put her in. It's the least he can do. She's been silent and discreet, letting him sulk in his thoughts without having to use any of his social skills. He has to remember to let her boss know how satisfied he has been by her services. Screw the hair.
"It's only a little tangle. I'll wet it again," she says politely with a little smile, concentrating on her task. Was her voice this pleasant before? Or is it the lovely smile that made the difference? There is something so warm and natural in the way she moves, unpretentious and simple, that grasps his interest with no effort.
She's like a breath of fresh air.
He has forgotten how suffocating his world can be. How vain and narcissistic in all its sophisticated elegance. He had started just as simply once. Full of dreams and aspirations and wonder. Where did all the enthusiasm go? The excitement. The adventure. He never thought he would feel so fed up and exhausted by it all.
"Are you alright, sir? Do you need to get up and stretch?" She asks, sounding genuinely concerned for him. She's very perceptive too, he decides. It makes him feel uncomfortable, and nobody makes him feel uncomfortable these days.
"No, thank you. Carry on."
She digs her fingers in his hair, and he shuts his eyes at the blissful sensation.
Her light, clean scent drifts to his nose.
…..
The texture of his hair is unspun silk. Thick waves of black sea that Rey wants to get lost in. It's not a desire that comes frequently.
She had felt so nervous when she found out Kylo Ren had been appointed to her. She almost asked for Poe to replace her. But at the end of the day, she figured he is just a man, like so many others whose hair she has run her comb through. There is no reason why his brooding silence and intimidating, dark gaze should make her feel like she's standing practically naked in front of him.
Perhaps it's his well known difficult personality that makes her feel so cautious. Guarded. Maybe it's the rumors of his ugly, devastating break up with one of Hollywood's most beloved leading actresses that's affecting her judgement. Or maybe it's just the hair.
She loves working on his hair. A little too much.
Kylo Ren sighs. As if he's caught the end of her tangled thoughts. She picks out another strand.
It's a wild mane he has, with a will of its own. But so soft at the same time. The man sits obediently under her fingertips. Pliant. She can't help but wonder if there's a hidden part of him that could be as supple as his tresses.
Hair reflects the personality, after all.
He has brought out his phone because of a notification, scrolling down the screen with a frown. She hasn't caught his glance once since she started working the wax on the tips of his strands. But it must not feel too unpleasant, judging by the way his tired eyes had eventually fallen shut and his long features had relaxed. She can't be too sure, though. He is very distant. Unaccessible.
Or perhaps just misunderstood. A complete opposite to the anxious, self absorbed, but overly pleasant celebrities she has come to work with since her career took off at First Order Salon under one of the greatest hairdressers of the Eastern Coast, Armitage Hux.
There's a knock on the door, and room service is allowed in by his assistant. There's a quick whispered exchange between her and the actor, currently frowning his displeasure. Rey decides to stand to the side and out of his way.
"You did not order anything for yourself," he points out as his assistant departs.
He takes a sip of his espresso. The small mug practically disappears in his hand. That is how large it is. How large he is. Rey is all but surprised he was able to fold himself in the chair of his hotel suite.
"I did not need anything."
"You were too embarrassed. The bill would be under my name," he says, studying her in the mirror. Rey chooses not to respond immediately. She simply concentrates on curling in a couple of rebellious strands on the left side of his head. There's no reason to explain why she loathes owing to anyone.
"I don't accept drinks from strangers," she tries to humor him. "It's a quirk."
"Ah," he drawls. "Not an American quirk, though."
She almost pokes his scalp with the pointy end of her comb. It's a simple statement - but for some reason it sounds like an admonishment. An accusation.
He's still looking at her through the mirror. Rey bristles.
Brown. His eyes are brown. With flecks of amber at the rim of his irises. She would have never discovered that detail if the sun wasn't shining on his features, removing the shadows of his frown. There is something innocent that remains under the light. Boyish. It's very distracting. Deceitfully so.
"I'm from Manchester, England. My accent gives me away too soon," she smiles politely, bringing her attention back to his hair. "But I've been in the United States for years, with the help of my grandfather. In the beginning, at least. I'm on my own now," she straightens her back. It's the one accomplishment in her life she is proud of, even if it cost her an education at MIT. Detangling herself from her grandfather's influence has been the wisest choice she's ever made.
"Alone?"
His unsolicited question makes her pause. She can see him studying her out of the corner of his eye. Yes, she wants to answer back. Very alone. Only it would be the most heedless thing to do, confiding to a complete stranger, much less to the hottest upcoming actor of his generation. His motives aren't exactly clear and pure. And if she were to play along, it would probably lead to a secret fantasy come true with a bit of a bruised heart. A haunting memory if she fell in too deep. She would hate to be disposed of at the end of a night.
It's happened to her once too many times.
"With all due respect, sir, my personal life is not something I would like to discuss."
This could very well be the reason she will end up being fired by tomorrow - or by the end of the day. Whichever. But Kylo Ren chuckles, a deep, luscious sound that reverberates in his chest. A wide, toothy, adorable smile breaks over his face, dimpling his cheeks. She is momentarily starstruck by it, and the amused expression that sparkles in his crinkled eyes. He folds one leg on top of the other, shifting in his chair to make himself more comfortable.
He turns his head to face her.
Her breath hitches under the intensity of his gaze. The mirror has done nothing but flatten its affect and reign in its power. She is completely unprepared to face him.
"I haven't heard anyone speak back to me in years," he chastises her, thoroughly amused. He regards her for a long moment. Rey can feel her cheeks begin to burn.
"I didn't mean to be rude. I simply…"
"No need to apologize," he lifts his hand to quiet her. "I overstepped. It was my bad. I should be the one apologizing to you."
She nods and looks down at one of the glossy strands that's still twisted around her finger. She can feel his heavy gaze on her, but she's afraid to look back.
"No need. It's ok..." she says eventually with a shrug that she hopes seems nonchalant, before picking up her work.
He turns away. An awkward silence falls between them after that. Only an occasional snip of metal scissors and a spray here and there disrupt the stillness of the room. Its as if they are both holding their breaths. She combs a last strand in place with shaky fingers before she sets it with hairspray. The bottle clanks on the dresser with finality. The Oscars await.
"Ready, sir."
His dark gaze meets hers in the mirror. Only she can't look away this time. He removes the cloth from his shoulders and rises slowly. She watches him every inch of the way. She hadn't noticed how tall and broad he was - how attractive - until he towers over her.
Christ, he's so beautiful. So dangerously beautiful.
"Thank you… Rey," he tastes her name. Every consonant and every vowel of it - as if it's a newly discovered word that excites him. Her heart begins to race. "I would like to have a business card from you for future collaboration. I'll have my manager get in contact with you, if you're interested."
Rey tries to decipher the intentions behind his proposal, but his expression is neutral. All signs of his previous mirth have evaporated, leaving behind the cold, detached man everyone speaks about. Except for the eyes. Something curious and beguiling still simmers deep inside.
She reaches for her worn out purse, fumbling through the interior pockets in search of a business card. It's not as if she uses them often. She fishes one out eventually, thankful it's in decent shape, and hands it to him.
His long fingers barely brush against her own as he takes it and studies it. A numb sensation spreads from the spot he touched and travels up her hand, raising fine hairs in its wake.
"Thank you for your services, Ms. Niima. Perhaps we'll meet again."
He lifts his eyes to look at her, and all she can do is stare back, at a complete loss of words. She is so frustrated with herself for allowing this man to work his charm on her. She should have seen it coming. It's part of his job, after all. She's fairly certain his ego has been fed well enough for the next couple of hours or so.
But before she's able to respond, he raises his hand to finger a wisp of hair away from her face, caressing the highbone of her cheek lightly with his knuckle. The touch is so featherlight, so soft, she would have missed it entirely if her senses weren't so heightened. His eyes roam her face curiously. Fascinated. As if she's some rare species on the verge of extinction.
Rey fears she will be if he continues to look at her this way.
His face darkens and his hand drops. The actor takes a step back. A little too hastily. Like he's come across something potentially harmful.
Like he's left himself exposed.
He turns around, grabbing his suit jacket. The thick, elegant fabric ruffles as he tugs it on. He doesn't spare her another glance. He simply walks to the door, heels clicking decisively against the polished wooden floor. Rey feels like he is sucking away all the air from the room.
But he pauses at the entrance, hesitating before he addresses her over his shoulder.
"Someone like you shouldn't be alone." His voice feels like velvet on this strange, heartstruck afternoon. "I'll see you around. Rey."
The door clicks softly behind him, before the meaning of his words blankets her mind. His muffled steps disappear on the carpeting of the hotel's corridor.
Rey clutches her comb to her thudding chest.
Author's note: I've been teetering between leaving this story a one-shot and turning it into a small fic. Your feedback would be greatly appreciated and gobbled down! Lemme know what you think!