A/N: Day 5: Haircut

Silly and domestic, uhm,

Abbacchio is wandering down the hall – a little stuck in his head, contemplating lunch, wondering whether Buccellati will want to go out or stay in – when the unmistakable sound of zippers breaks through his thoughts. The thin, food-related fog in his mind clears, and he stops in his tracks, head tilted to listen.

It's coming from the bathroom. The unzip, zip, repeat pattern.

So Abbacchio backtracks. Their bathroom door is open, and the light is on – and sure enough there's Buccellati, standing in front of the sink.

There's nothing weird about that, specifically. It'd be one hundred percent normal, even, if it weren't for the fact that Sticky Fingers is here, too. Accounts for the zipper noises, but it's still bizarre: Buccellati staring into the bathroom mirror with his stand nearby, and…

Unzipping his bangs?

As hair is unzipped, it drifts into the sink, only to be reattached by Sticky Fingers less than a second later. Buccellati is focused intently on his task. So much so that he doesn't notice Abbacchio.

At least, he doesn't until Abbacchio opens his big fat mouth and asks, "What are you doing?"

"Oh." Buccellati casts his unaffected gaze out into the hallway, hair half-unzipped and trickling in front of one of his eyes. "I didn't see you there, Leone."

Sticky Fingers reattaches the hair as Buccellati turns back to the mirror, and Abbacchio is even more confused than he was a second ago. Which sure is something.

Moving in with Bruno has been an experience and a half, but Abbacchio's never felt quite this baffled. (Then again. It has only been a couple weeks.)

"I'm cutting my hair," Buccellati explains, which clears absolutely nothing up. His stand tacks on a helpful, "Ari," which clears even less than nothing up, though maybe Moody Blues would understand.

"But…Sticky Fingers is putting it back," Abbacchio points out. Slowly.

Humming, Buccellati has his stand zip off a couple centimeters of hair from everywhere except his bangs this time. He frowns, and it's instantly zippered back on. "Yes, for now."

O…kay.

Interest sufficiently piqued, Abbacchio shuffles into the room. There are indeed hair cutting scissors sitting on the sink's counter, but Buccellati keeps his hands well clear of them. The only one who moves is Sticky Fingers, and Abbacchio can only stand to keep quiet and watch the two of them experiment with hair lengths for so long.

"Why are you doing that?"

This time, Buccellati's bangs are cut at an angle, his hair inverted the opposite way, and he tilts his head with an amused snort. Shaking it once brings the chopped off layer back, zipped into place like nothing happened.

It wasn't a bad look, but it's gone too fast for Abbacchio to compliment. So he doesn't. Just stands waiting patiently for some kind of explanation.

"I cut them too short once," Buccellati says, Sticky Fingers lobbing off a generous portion of his bangs to illustrate. Abbacchio covers his laugh with a polite cough. "So now I test the length before committing."

Ah. That makes sense. "Smart."

Nose wrinkling as his bangs are reattached, Buccellati tries just a bit off the ends of his entire haircut, this time. He nods to himself, and then finally takes up the scissors. Sticky Fingers' zippers are still in place to act as a sort of guide while he cuts. So that's how he gets it so neat…

Abbacchio, meanwhile, leans against the wall to watch. "Why don't you just let Sticky Fingers leave it off?"

"I get split ends faster, when he does it."

"Ari," Sticky Fingers confirms, almost sounding ashamed of himself.

"…I see."

Buccellati's dexterous fingers make quick work of trimming his hair, moving with a level of ease that has to come from practice. Dark hairs flutter to the ground and into the sink alike, and when Buccellati's finished he brushes even more of them from his shirt. (Hopefully to clean up later, Abbacchio just swept in here yesterday.)

Scissors are set aside, and Sticky Fingers is dispersed. Buccellati runs both hands through his hair, ruffling it and combing it out until it falls into place, pristine as ever.

"Looks nice," Abbacchio says, because it's true and works as convenient cover for being unable to take his eyes off of the spot where freshly cut ends of dark hair brush at Buccellati's jaw. God, he wants to kiss that spot. But it's weird timing. Right?

"Thank you." Still looking in the mirror, Buccellati tips his head this way and that, only stopping when he apparently deems this haircut acceptable. "It's not in my eyes anymore, at least."

Eyes that…fix on Abbacchio, now.

With a certain shine in them. A shine that's got Abbacchio standing up that much straighter. Because that look is uncomfortably reminiscent of the way Mista looks before picking off of Narancia's plate to feed Sex Pistols (for the third time in a row).

The expression is playful and mischievous and rare to find on Buccellati.

Abbacchio's arms fall out of their loosely crossed posture to hang at his sides. "What?"

"Do you want to try?" A tiny smile has appeared on Buccellati's face to go with that shine to his eye. Abbacchio does not stand a chance.

"…Try what?"

Buccellati makes scissors out of his fingers and mimes cutting his own hair. "One of Sticky Fingers' haircuts. It's kind of fun."

"No."

"Aw, come on, Leone." The smile on Buccellati's face cracks wider – Abbacchio does not stand a chance – and he even summons Sticky Fingers back. "I want to see what you looked like with short hair."

"I looked like shit," Abbacchio grouches, even though he can feel himself blushing. He ducks away from Sticky Fingers' encroaching hands, sends out Moody Blues to block subsequent attempts – darts out of the bathroom completely –

"What about chin-length?" Buccellati pursues into the hallway, with laughter in his voice, and Abbacchio's insides are molten butterflies but no.

"Absolutely not." Those were dark days. For his own good, and to spare Buccellati the sight, Abbacchio continues to flee around their tiny-ass apartment. With Buccellati close behind, and Moody Blues doing its best to hold out against Sticky Fingers' overzealous zippers.

A hand brushes the ends of Abbacchio's hair, but he throws himself over the back of the couch at the last second. Rolls onto the floor and circles around.

"Shoulder length?" Buccellati tries, chasing back down the hallway.

Ugh, the awkward stage where the ends go all wonky and flipped out in an unintentional, unattractive way? "No!" Why the hell would Buccellati want to witness that mess?

"I'll put it right back!" Buccellati promises, and, fuck, there's even more amusement in his tone, now.

If Abbacchio turns around, he's screwed – but he might be screwed anyway because he's gotten himself cornered in the office. No escape routes here. He'll have to get around Buccellati somehow…

Buccellati stops a little ways away, though, sporting his (extremely unfair) not-quite-pout. Puppy eyes. God. Turning around really was a mistake.

"Please, Leone?"

Argh, stupid Bruno. Stupid heart in Abbacchio's stupid chest doing stupid flips. He bites his lip, because his mouth is trying very hard to smile when he's telling it to frown. "No." He ducks beneath Buccellati's outstretched arm. Gets behind him and flees the room, with Buccellati quick to follow. "Cut it out!"

"Hm? Cut your hair?"

"Bruno, you piece of shit –"

A/N: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thanks for reading!