Yamaguchi stared at Tsukki's reflection behind him in the bathroom mirror. Tsukki stared back and let out a huff, brandishing the buzzer in his hand.
"Are we doing this or not?"
Yamaguchi took in a short, nervous breath.
"Yes. Yes, we are. Sorry, Tsukki. I've just never done this at home before," he said, looking down.
"I already told you, this could be done at the barber's. Why, exactly, am I the one doing this?" Yamaguchi rubbed his palms, slightly damp, against his sweatpants. He had been thinking about cutting his hair for a while now—it was just long enough to properly get in his face, and too short to pull back. He had tried using a headband once, but even Hinata said it looked stupid on him, and he really couldn't argue. Yamaguchi had brought the matter up with Tsukki, and all he suggested was to buzz it off. Yamaguchi didn't know why he expected anything else; his friend did it to himself every few weeks (albeit with a thick guard), keeping his hair tragically no-nonsense short. Never mind that Tsukki still managed to make it look okay. Yamaguchi knew he couldn't, though, and had settled on an undercut.
Tsukki cleared his throat and Yamaguchi refocused, trying to remember the question. Oh, right—that.
"You've done it before; you're good at it. I'd feel bad asking my parents to pay for another haircut. I just went last week." It wasn't untrue—he had just gotten a haircut. Tsukki nodded noncommittally and eyed the hair clips lying on the bathroom counter.
"How much do you want cut off? Right about–," he said, skimming a finger along Yamaguchi's head, "–here?" He finished. Yamaguchi's mouth went dry, cold tingles running along his scalp. He nodded, watching his friend's large hands—all chapped knuckles, neat nails, and boyishly elegant, bony fingers—as they traveled from his hair to the countertop, picking up flowery silver clips. He raised a brow, smiling slightly and looking to Yamaguchi.
"Yours?" Yamaguchi could feel his neck and ears warming from the teasing, but he smiled back.
"And if they are?" Tsukki blinked, smile widening to a smirk.
"I'd say gold suits you better."
"Ah, well. Good thing they're my mother's, then." Yamaguchi took in a small, sharp breath as his friend went to work on his hair, hands deftly combing and pinning, sending jolts through Yamaguchi's spine with every pull and tug. Tsukki took no notice, stopping only when he finished, and the top of Yamaguchi's head looked a right mess. He let out a nervous laugh and ran his hand through the hair left down, envisioning it short and trim. All of a sudden it seemed like a bold move.
He had just opened his mouth—to say what, he didn't know—when buzzing filled the room, Tsukki having switched on the trimmer. With his free hand, he reached for Yamaguchi's (still resting on the back of his head) to move it out of the way. The contact grounded him and Yamaguchi blinked—once, twice—and closed his mouth, smiling just a bit. He let his hand fall and looked at himself in the mirror. It was just hair.
