A/N (8.23.2020): My entry for the quarantine fic contest on the Advancers Forum. Title taken from "Trust Me" by the Backstreet Boys, and lyrics are spread throughout. Rating for instances of foul language.
A/N (8.11.2022): Fixed some typos.
"Ash, let me cut your hair."
The man in question looks up from scrolling on his laptop towards his girlfriend, lying prone on the living room carpet of their apartment. "Wha'?" he slurs intelligently.
May is just staring at the ceiling. "It's so shaggy now. You could use a haircut."
Ash scratches at his head, feeling the long strands tickle the nape of his neck. "I guess," he warily cedes, "But from you?"
She sits up and pouts at him, looking like a sitting girafarig plush as she does so. "You don't trust me?"
His eyes immediately narrow. "Why are you trying to guilt me into this?" He knows his girlfriend, and he can see right through the tricks that would probably work on anyone else.
She huffs, knowing she's caught. "I'm bored, Ash! All of my typical hobbies are communal, and I just want something to do!"
He returns his attention to the laptop, and their verbal volleyball tournament begins. "Then read a book." "Let me cut your hair." "Start a new show." "Please, it'll be fun!" "Learn a language." "At least I'm not asking to dye it or anything." "That conversation would be a non-starter, and we both know it."
"Pleaassseeee." May's voice is starting to get that quality to it. He couldn't tell you what or why, but it's always the start of the end for him.
Ash rolls his eyes upwards towards the ceiling, silently asking Arceus for strength and for a solid reason as to why he deserves such cruel and unusual punishment. May sees this and smirks internally, knowing she's close to getting what she wants.
He meets her eyes again, and she quickly wipes her face of any scheming qualities. "Only if you also let me cut yours," he offers as a final ultimatum, sure that this would be the piece that brought about May's resistance.
May just nods excitedly before rushing to the bathroom to scour for hair-cutting utensils.
Ash narrows his eyes after her. She agreed far too easily for his taste.
Sooner than he would wish, he is sat at their apartment's excuse for a dining room table and dressed in a trash bag with a hole cut out from the top. His stir-crazy girlfriend looks like a dollar store version of the villain from A Nightmare at Professor Elm's Place just by holding a pair of scissors in one hand and a plastic comb in the other.
"Okay, what do you want?" she asks as she snaps the scissors open and closed excitedly. The sound will surely be playing in Ash's nightmares tonight.
"For this to not happen," he deadpans.
"Try again." Another snap.
His posture and resistance deflate. "Just an even trim all around, then, I guess. I like the way it looks; it's just a little long."
May nods in the way people do when they weren't really listening, but Ash doesn't see it because she has already turned his head to face forward. "Yep, sure, I can do that."
She begins by combing through his hair; and against his better instinct, Ash is lulled into security by her ministrations.
Snip.
Ash jerks in his seat.
"What was that!?" they exclaim at the same time.
May stares at him as though he suggested evolving Pikachu into a raichu. He imagines he looks much the same, so he breaks the silence first. "What are you doing?!" he tries again.
"Cutting your hair, doofus," she says as though speaking to a doofus.
"Aren't you gonna wet it first or something?"
Her face has exasperated confusion writ all over it. "What are you talking about?"
He shrugs, and the wrinkling of the plastic bag-turned-barber cape sounds as feeble as his confidence. "Like, at the barber shop. They wash your hair before cutting it. I think the washing is just a formality, but, like, doesn't it need to be wet? My hair, I mean."
May sighs, looking extremely put out. "Fine, follow me." She speed-walks to the kitchen, and he scrambles after her when he hears the tap water running.
"Won't we need a chair or somet—ah!"
"Is your hair wet enough?" she asks over the sound of Ash's very valid inquiry being cut off by a cup full of water to his face.
"May!" he roars as he strangles himself in the stupid trash bag in an effort to remove it. With his vision obscured by and his arms tangled in the infernal plastic, May easily manoeuvers him back into the seat at the table and settles the makeshift cape around him.
"Now that you're done stalling, we can get started," she says over the sputtering sounds of Ash's protests.
At this point, he gives up entirely, a conclusion that is all too common whenever he goes toe to toe with May's whims. He rationalises to himself that he's sequestering himself on purpose anyway, so any mistakes she makes will surely grow out by the time he can be closer than six feet apart from people.
"At least bring me a towel so I can dry myself off," he grumps. "And my laptop."
May stomps her feet petulantly as she sets off for the requested items. "Why is my boyfriend so needy!?"
Once he is dried and occupied, Ash turns pliant and prone in his seat. Finally, it's just May, the black mess of hair she loves so much, some safety scissors, and a dream.
He tries to lose himself in the media consumption that enraptured him before, but the gentle tugging on his hair and snip snip of the scissors around him are constantly demanding his attention. There is a dim reflection afforded through his laptop screen, but not nearly enough detail can be made out.
He gets an idea and opens the start menu, and May tugs on his hair sharp enough to stop him from going any further. "Don't you dare think about opening the camera app."
Ash deflates back against his seat and tilts his head back to try to catch his girlfriend's gaze. "Mayyyyyyy," he whines. "They let you see yourself at the barber shop!"
She firmly tilts his head back up. "But then it'll ruin the surprise," she says plainly.
"I agreed to a haircut, not a birthday gift," he grouses as he goes back to reading about the League's wishy-washy plans for reopening the gyms in Kanto.
Naturally, there are only so many new articles and points-of-view he can read on a subject before he runs out, then he gets bored and wary again. He tries to survey the clippings of hair on their fake wooden floor, and it looks like there is a lot more hair than there should be.
"How much are you cutting off?" he queries nervously. "I only wanted a trim."
"Hmmmm, not that much," she answers, and that is the same tone of voice she used the one time she wanted to add 'just a little' tamato berry to their homemade salsa last month.
He crosses his arms and says so. All he hears is a snip in response. For some weird reason, that is not comforting at all.
"I'm almost done, anyway," May adds after a brief moment.
Ash sits up immediately. "Really?" he asks over her admonitions to sit still, dummy! It's a little past half an hour since they started; and even though he was getting a bit restless, he kinda hoped she would take longer in an effort not to do it wrong. She never even told him to turn his head or anything!
"Why? Does your precious barber shop cut your hair faster than this?" She pokes his head in jest, and all other thoughts simply evanesce. Three and a half years of dating, and she still teases him like how she used to back when they were just tip-toeing around each other's affections. He loves this girl so much.
He lets a smarmy grin slip onto his face, though he knows she can't see. "Maybe, but the barber isn't nearly as cute."
May exaggeratedly aww's, but Ash can tell she's fighting a blush.
She combs through his hair a few more times then conclusively pats his shoulder. "Well, I don't think there's any more I can do here," she announces. "You stay put. I'll get a mirror. Don't touch it, or you might ruin the surprise!" she calls over her shoulder, just as he was about to do just that.
He'll admit it to her later, but he thinks this might be May's best cabin fever idea yet. Ash isn't expecting perfection, but he is excited to see the result anyway now that it's actually done. Still, he's prepared to laugh it off if it ends up being a little lopsided, just so that he doesn't discourage her from future bouts of whimsy. It is one of the reasons he fell in love with her, after all.
"Turn around. Okay, I'm setting the mirror by your laptop. On 'go'?"
Ash nods, both for her and to himself. "One."
"Two!"
"Three…"
"GO!"
He turns, and many things happen at once.
Ash hears May's high-pitched giggles and pounding footsteps get farther away as she hides somewhere in the apartment. He feels his fingernails dig into his palms as he tries to process his reflection. In the mirror, he sees—
"A BOWL CUT!?"
Her giggles turn into cackles from her hiding spot in their bedroom, and he sets after her.
"May Maple, what the actual fuck!?" "Don't you love it, though?" "Get back here, you conniving little cheat!" "'Cause I love it!" "What happened to 'just a trim'?!" "I never said anything of the sort!"
She leads him on a race around their apartment, darting behind tables and throwing chairs in her wake to hinder her boyfriend. Alas, their apartment may be big enough for just the two of them, but not big enough for a wild farfetch'd chase. May can hear the crinkle of the trash bag Ash forgot to take off getting closer every second.
Finally, she finds herself tackled onto the living room carpet with Ash's decisive leap over the couch.
But it's Ash, of course. Even as she yelps in surprise, he has her wrapped in his arms before they make impact, and they barrel roll until they hit the wall. "You okay?" he asks from above her.
It's a little bit romantic actually; but one good look at Ash's head, sticking out of that poor, abused trash bag, and May cannot help her raucous guffaws. "You look like a smoochum that got caught out in the rain!"
He has no choice but to retaliate. "Oh, yeah?" he asks as he mercilessly tickles his girlfriend. "And who's fault is that?"
"Ash, stop it!" she gasps as she feebly tries to escape his clutches.
"Nuh-uh. If you think it's so funny, you deserve to keep laughing."
"It is, though; it is so funny," she wails through her laughter.
They wrestle on the floor like that for a little longer, May's happy squeals and Ash's getting-less-annoyed-by-the-second heckles sounding through their apartment. He only relinquishes her when he sees literal tears escaping out of her closed eyelids.
He helps them both up to a sitting position against the wall. "Well, I hope you know to expect no mercy for your own haircut," he teases as he finally rids himself of the stupid trash bag. He has no intention of pulling off a similar prank (he doesn't have a death wish, thank you very much), but he definitely thinks she deserves to squirm in the meantime.
"What are you talking about?" she asks while she catches her breath.
Ash feels a string deep inside of him get pulled taut, but he answers anyway. "Um, remember? I only agreed to this whole mess because you said I could cut your hair in return."
As he explains, May simply collects the bag and walks over to the kitchen, remaining in plain view thanks to the apartment's open concept. She simply and calmly throws out the bag then takes out a dustpan and broom. "Did I, though? Did I, really?"
He jumps up to his feet. "Yes, you really did! I said, 'Only if you let me cut yours,' and you said—" He stops himself as the exact conversation from an hour ago replays in his head.
She continues sweeping up the hair clippings as if Ash wasn't on the verge of an emotional apocalypse. "Hm, what was that? What did I say?"
May just nods excitedly before rushing to the bathroom to scour for hair-cutting utensils.
And the last remaining thread to his sanity snaps. "May! You nodded! That's basically the same thing!" he argues as he follows her back into the kitchen to dispose of the cut hair.
"I'm quite sure I have no clue what you're talking about." She looks up to face him then, and he marvels how she can still look him in the eye as she lies.
"You are the worst person I know," he deadpans.
May winks at him, and he knows that's the end of that.
If he hadn't already met Arceus itself, Ash would be sure there is no god.
The one good thing about quarantine is that she gets to wake up in Ash's arms every morning. Their schedules used to be so packed, it would have been a miracle if she were able to even eat breakfast with him. She's looking forward to a vaccine as much as the next person, but she cannot deny that she will miss this simple pleasure.
May sighs contentedly as she shuffles around to face her boyfriend. The sight of his new 'do is only surprising in that she hasn't gotten used to it yet. Honestly, it kinda suits him, which puts her off a little bit. What's the use in a haircut prank if the recipient is capable of actually rocking the look? Ugh, she should have done a mohawk instead.
As she expected they would, her movements rouse Ash out of slumber. "G'morning, sleepy head," she greets as he blearily blinks into consciousness. She watches how he habitually scratches at his head, ruffling his hair in the process. "How's it feel?"
"Not really that different," he confesses through a yawn. "Maybe lighter?"
Her eyes narrow. "You seem a lot more at peace with it than you were 12 hours ago."
Ash turns away from her to pluck his phone from where it was charging on the bedside table. "After last night, it just didn't seem so bad anymore." There is something about his tone that tells her she doesn't have all the facts yet. In fact, something has felt off ever since she woke up, and she doesn't like it one bit.
"Do you mind making pancakes, babe?" he asks offhandedly while texting some friends back.
"Sure, babe," she replies testily, garnering no reaction from the other. She twists her mouth into a moue as she gets out of bed.
May bypasses the bathroom completely, heading straight for the kitchen. She completely eschewed her typical morning routine approximately four days into quarantine; and call her gross, but getting rid of her morning breath doesn't even make the top ten list of priorities she has as soon as she wakes up.
As she gathers the utensils and ingredients for pancakes, she wonders how long it'll take for Ash to bring up the haircut thing again. Getting a haircut herself was never part of the plan, but May could be convinced otherwise. She may be an aspiring agent of chaos, but she's fair.
She absentmindedly checks the time on the microwave, and then she stops.
"Um."
She looks closer at her reflection in the microwave door, hoping that the imperfect surface is to blame for what she sees.
No such luck. "Ummm!" She holds the tone louder and for longer.
She drops whatever the heck was in her hand and rushes to the mirror in the hall.
"UMMMMMMMMMM!" She screams as loud as a person with her lips pressed together can while she beedrill-lines straight for the bedroom door, behind which she can clearly hear the culprit cackling his head off.
The door is locked.
"ASH KETCHUM, WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY BANGS?" May yells as she bangs on the door with all her fury-accentuated might, ready to break it down if necessary just to get her hands on her soon-to-be-dead boyfriend.
"I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about." He doesn't even try to sound convincing!
"You better open this door in the next millisecond unless you wanna know what a Blaze Kick to the 'nads feels like!"
Later, she will blame her poor reaction time on the fact that he never listens when she tells him to do something – because next thing she knows, he's got an arm around her shoulders, and she's looking up at the front-facing camera on his phone.
"Smile!"
She snaps out of it and whirls on him just as he pockets the device. "If you don't delete that picture right now, I swear, I will make it so that you will never be able to taste anything ever again."
He pouts at her. "You don't trust me?"
(When he posts the picture on Pokegram, he captions it 'what happens when you let your guard down.')