A/N: Completely random, based on a drawing I recently did on deviantART of Ed with short hair. I think a part of him would be a spiteful rebel about it... XD Also pulling from that dA 100 Theme Challenge by British-Prophetess. (No, I didn't forget about it! I just suck at one-shots, and writing in general right now...)

Prompt #66: What I Say Goes

HAIRCUT

Eduardo sat with a quickly darkening glower on his face. At first he tried to be casual about the visit, tried to pretend he didn't care. But that only made the resentment build more and more, until now he sunk further into the chair unhappily, wishing to disappear completely into the uncomfortable cushion.

And when the barber draped the plastic smock around his shoulders Ed gripped the chair handles fiercely, like a man facing his own electrocution.

"¡Un momento—aguarde, aguarde!" He suddenly couldn't face it, so close to happening. "Hold on. I'm not sure I can do it."

"It is just a haircut."

Standing nearby, like the jailer escorting the dead man walking, his father shrugged as if it wasn't the big ordeal his brash son was making it out to be. Eduardo Sr. had kept close, instead of sitting off to the side in the waiting area; likely, he suspected the fidgety teen would request a mere short trim on the ends, or back out entirely. Or expecting his junior to bolt from the shop. All of which made Ed bitter, feeling like he were being tested. Or worse, a baby who needed watching.

"We agreed," his father continued. He was calm, but still with his professional doctorate air of authority.

"Well, you said I had to agree," Ed mumbled. "Not the same thing." He wondered if he should just teleport away.

"Eduardo." There was a warning in his parent's tone, patience wearing thin. "You are living under my roof now, and what I say goes."

"But it's kind of my identity, Papá, you know? Besides, everyone keeps calling me Spike Spiegel, like it's familiar—cool, even. And that seems like a bad thing to waste. I've gotta get to know people here somehow, don't I?"

"First of all, anyone named 'Spike' is not a man you should imitate. And second, mijo, that bird's nest afro on your head is not who you are. You are not a street urchin runaway anymore, and you need to look respectable."

The barber patted him on the shoulder, as if to soften the blow to come. "Don't worry, son. It'll grow back before your first semester is done."

"Sí," said Dr. Dorado. "It is not the end of the world."

A strange, wizened hint flickered in his father's eyes as he shared a long look of meaning with his son. It was a reminder of all he'd been through, things they dared not voice in public; as if any other human being could fathom what they'd seen. And Ed sighed, in both resignation and understanding. After all, his Dad was right. Tortured by aliens, the invasion, and near planetary destruction by the Warworld and the Reach's endgame...

A haircut was definitely not the end of the world. But he still winced when the barber tugged a lock of his unkempt mass of hair, the scissors clicking away...

Eduardo Jr. stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, no longer recognizing the reflection staring back. Except for maybe the brooding pout.

Perhaps it was part of his father's plan, but he looked older with his new 'do; Eduardo Sr. would probably say he looked "sophisticated". Little black waves and curls topped his head, much too short now to create any shape of their own, while the barber had shaved the nape of his neck just up to his brow-line. He was told to use product (why did professionals always use that word? It sounded gross—) and run his hands from the base of his skull forward, to create "structure and body".

Yeah... no. Ed snorted, knowing he wasn't the fashionably trendy type to give a damn; he already reckoned on being too lazy in the morning. His old umbrella of hair created body naturally, giving him his own style without having to force it. He considered using product to smooth it down, but then he'd look like his Dad and: Yeah, no.

Ed sighed into the glass. Sophistication isn't me. For goodness sake, he was only fourteen!

Suddenly a reckless idea hit him, befitting his age, and his pout turned upwards at the corners into a wicked grin. The notion started as a what-if tease, but then it went full-force son rebellion. Well, his father did want him to get his hair cut...

Tye wouldn't be much use, living with a bunch of girls and having his own luxuriously long mane. So Ed punched the other number on his cell without even thinking. His grin became an excited smile when Virgil answered.

"Yo! Ed, been awhile, man!"

"Too long in fact, hermano. A lot of changes being made."

"Huh?"

"Do you have one of those hair clippers at your place? The kind that does a super-close shave?"

"Shave?" Virgil chuckled. "What? You shaving your head bald or somethin'?"

As much as he loved his old man, Ed couldn't help but love the devilish expression his new reflection was wearing even more. "Maybe..."

"Dude!"

End.