The last strand by Baldbearded

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Jason was sixteen when the first signs of thinning began. It started innocently enough—just a few extra strands of hair clinging to his fingers after he showered, more than usual, but nothing alarming. Over time, though, the problem grew, and by the end of high school, Jason’s hair was rapidly disappearing, especially at the crown.

He was obsessed with it. Every morning, he’d stare into the bathroom mirror, fingers probing his scalp, trying to ignore the increasing amount of skin showing through. In the beginning, he’d brush his hair differently, trying to cover it up. But eventually, even that wasn’t enough. That’s when he turned to his barber, Paulie.

Paulie was an old-timer, someone Jason had been going to for years. The man had seen it all—bad haircuts, dye jobs gone wrong—but this, Jason’s thinning hair, was something even Paulie couldn’t sugarcoat.

"You’re losing it, kid," Paulie said during a particularly quiet appointment. He was standing behind Jason, combing through what little hair he had left on top. "But we can still hide it for a while."

Jason gripped the arms of the barber’s chair, eyes fixed on the mirror. "What do you mean?"

Paulie tapped the small tuft of hair still clinging to the front of Jason’s head. "This here? This is what’s keeping it together. We use that tuft, pull the sides over, and boom—you’ve got yourself a combover."

Jason had no better options. He nodded. Paulie went to work, meticulously combing and layering the hair. The tuft became the anchor of the whole operation, the small patch of hair that held together Jason’s illusion of a full head of hair. When he left the barbershop, he felt like himself again—at least from a distance. But Paulie’s words stayed with him: "It won’t last forever."

In college, that tuft was Jason’s lifeline. He became a master at keeping his hair in place—gentle brushing, careful adjustments in mirrors, and no one was ever allowed to touch it. The combover made him feel normal, but it was a fragile illusion. Every time he looked in the mirror, he knew it was only a matter of time before it gave out.

Then he met Chris.

Chris was laid-back, funny, and uncomfortably perceptive. They met in a literature class, bonded over shared jokes, and quickly started spending more time together. After a few casual dates, Chris invited Jason over for dinner. Jason liked him—maybe a little too much—and that made him nervous.

The day of the dinner, Jason spent nearly an hour perfecting his combover. He made sure every strand was carefully positioned, the tuft of hair doing its best to cover the thin patch at the top of his head. Satisfied that his hair looked as good as it could, Jason headed over to Chris’s place.

Things were going well. They ate, laughed, and sat together on Chris’s couch, conversation flowing easily. But as they talked, Jason could feel Chris’s eyes lingering on his head. His heart raced, but he tried to play it cool.

Then Chris reached over and casually ran his fingers through Jason’s hair.

Jason’s stomach dropped. He tensed, but didn’t move, hoping Chris wouldn’t notice anything unusual. But as Chris’s fingers played with Jason’s hair, lingering near the tuft, his expression changed.

"Hey…" Chris said softly, his fingers tugging gently at the hair near the front. "What’s going on here?"

Jason froze. His heart pounded in his chest as Chris continued running his fingers through the carefully arranged combover.

"It’s a little… complicated, isn’t it?" Chris teased, his tone light but curious. He gave the tuft a playful tug, and Jason winced as he felt the strands shift under the weight of Chris’s hand.

"I—" Jason started, but before he could finish, Chris’s fingers found the anchor—the small tuft that held the entire combover together—and gave it a sharp tug.

The tuft came loose.

In one swift motion, Chris unraveled the entire combover. Jason felt the hair slip away, the strands falling out of place, exposing the bald patch underneath. The air hit his scalp, cold and unforgiving.

Chris pulled his hand back, eyes wide as he held a small clump of Jason’s hair. "Oh… oh s**t, I didn’t mean—"

Jason sat there, stunned. His secret was out. He reached up to feel the exposed skin on his head, the emptiness where his carefully constructed hairstyle had been moments ago. His chest tightened, and the room felt too small, too bright.

"I didn’t think…" Chris started, his voice soft, "I’m sorry, man. I was just playing around."

Jason swallowed hard, embarrassment washing over him. For years, he had hidden behind that tuft of hair. Now, in one moment, it was gone, and with it, any pretense of control he had over his appearance.

But instead of running, something inside him shifted. The absurdity of the situation—Chris standing there, still holding a chunk of hair, and Jason’s hair fully exposed—struck him. He laughed, a sharp, nervous laugh, then stood up and walked toward the bathroom.

Chris followed, still apologizing. "I didn’t mean to rip it out! I—"

Jason stopped in front of the mirror, staring at himself. The combover was destroyed, the bald patch gleaming under the bathroom light. He looked ridiculous, but he also felt… relieved.

"Alright," Jason said, his voice steadier than he expected. "No more pretending." He opened the bathroom cabinet, pulled out a pair of clippers, and handed them to Chris. "You started this. Might as well finish it."

Chris blinked, still processing what was happening. "You… you want me to shave it?"

Jason nodded, meeting Chris’s eyes in the mirror. "Yeah. I’m done with this."

Chris hesitated for a moment, then smiled, taking the clippers from Jason’s hand. "Alright. Let’s do this."

Jason sat down on the edge of the bathtub, heart still racing, but a strange sense of calm settling over him. Chris stood behind him, clippers buzzing to life in his hand. The sound was loud in the small bathroom, a finality to it that Jason hadn’t expected.

With careful precision, Chris ran the clippers over Jason’s head, shaving away the remaining hair. Jason felt the cool metal glide across his scalp, the strands falling to the floor in clumps. Each pass of the clippers left more skin exposed, more of the old Jason disappearing.

Chris worked silently, focused, until the last strand was gone. Jason looked up at his reflection—his scalp smooth and bare. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. He was bald, and for the first time, he felt free.

Chris set the clippers down and smiled, brushing his fingers lightly over Jason’s freshly shaved head. "You look good, you know that?"

Jason smiled, touching his scalp with a sense of wonder. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I do."

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