The Barber’s Urging by FlatG

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Jason had been going to Gus’s barbershop for years, as long as he could remember. He trusted Gus with his hair—after all, the man had been cutting it since before Jason knew what he even wanted. Every month, he'd settle into the old leather chair, ask for the same trim, and Gus would start his familiar routine.

But every month, without fail, Gus would pause, look at Jason in the mirror, and say with a grin, "You know, you've got the perfect hair for a flattop. Plus, with your cowlicks up front, your hair naturally wants to go up."

Jason always laughed it off. "Nah, not for me, Gus. Maybe next time."

He didn’t know why, but the idea of a flattop unsettled him. It seemed so... extreme. The sharp lines, the rigid shape. It wasn’t him. He was a jeans-and-hoodie kind of guy, not some military haircut type. But every visit, Gus would bring it up, as if there was a part of Jason’s head that belonged to that haircut, just waiting to come out.

One day, though, Jason hesitated when Gus brought it up again. The words—"perfect hair for a flattop"—hung in the air, and for the first time, Jason didn’t immediately laugh.

"You know, it’s just a haircut," Gus said, noticing Jason’s silence. "You can always grow it out again if you don’t like it."

Jason’s heart started to race. "I don’t know, Gus. It’s such a big change. What if it looks... ridiculous?"

Gus waved his hand dismissively. "Trust me, I’ve been cutting hair for 30 years. I know a good fit when I see one. Your hair was made for it, Jason. Just once, try it."

Jason shifted uncomfortably in the chair. He stared at his reflection, feeling a strange tightness in his chest. Maybe I should just do it, he thought. What’s the worst that could happen?

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His palms felt clammy.

Finally, with a deep breath, he said, "Alright... let’s do it."

Gus didn’t hesitate. "You won’t regret it."

As Gus grabbed the clippers, Jason's stomach lurched. He watched in the mirror as the clippers buzzed to life, the noise somehow louder than usual. His hands gripped the armrests as Gus started on the sides, taking long, deliberate strokes, reducing his hair to a short, even length.

Each swipe of the clippers made Jason wince internally. His hair—the same hair he’d had in nearly the same style for as long as he could remember—was falling to the floor in chunks. His head felt suddenly exposed, vulnerable. He could see his ears more clearly than ever before, feel the cool air on the sides of his scalp.

What if this was a huge mistake?

He wanted to stop Gus, to tell him to go back, but he was too far in now.

When Gus started working on the top, Jason could barely look. He felt the comb pressing his hair into place, the clippers buzzing close as Gus began shaping it. Every so often, Gus would step back, eyeing his work, and Jason’s stomach churned.

"Hang in there, almost done," Gus said, his voice calm, like he wasn’t about to turn Jason’s world upside down.

Jason nodded weakly, eyes fixed on the growing shape in the mirror. It was becoming more defined, the top flattening out into a precise, crisp line. With each pass, the flattop took form, clean and angular, transforming his head into something he barely recognized.

When Gus finally set down the clippers and grabbed a smaller comb to finish the details, Jason’s mouth felt dry. He had to fight the urge to reach up and touch it before Gus was finished.

After what felt like an eternity, Gus stepped back with a satisfied smile. "There. What do you think?"

Jason blinked at the reflection. The sides were sharply tapered, the top so flat it looked almost unnatural. His face seemed different, more defined, but also... exposed.

"I... I don’t know," Jason said slowly, his hand hovering over his head. He pressed down gently on the top. It was so flat, so precise, it barely felt like his hair. "It’s... sharp."

"Sharp’s a good thing," Gus said with a grin. "Gives you a whole new look."

Jason stared at himself for a long moment, heart still pounding. He wasn’t sure if he loved it or hated it, but one thing was certain: he didn’t look like the same person who had walked into Gus’s shop that morning.

"I guess I can get used to it," Jason said, the uncertainty still clear in his voice.

"You’ll see," Gus said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Give it a week. You’ll be glad you did it."

As the week went on, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. Every time he caught his reflection in a window or mirror, he hesitated, unsure if he recognized the guy staring back at him. The flattop was bold, sharp, and completely different from the low-maintenance style he’d been used to.

The reactions were mixed. At work, a couple of the guys immediately noticed and complimented him. "Man, that’s solid. You look sharp," one coworker said, while another gave him a thumbs-up from across the room.

But the women seemed less enthusiastic. His friend Megan scrunched her nose. "It’s... fine, I guess. But I liked your old hair better." His neighbor, who usually complimented his style, barely glanced his way during their morning walk. Even his sister couldn’t resist teasing him. "You look like you’re about to start barking military orders."

Each comment chipped away at his confidence, until he couldn’t take it anymore. A week of looking in the mirror and feeling like an imposter led him back to Gus’s shop.

The door jingled as he stepped inside. Gus looked up from his chair, a grin already spreading across his face. "Jason! Back so soon? You must be loving that cut, huh?"

Jason sighed, sinking into the leather chair. "Honestly, Gus, I don’t know. I thought I could get used to it, but it’s been… weird. People are kind of all over the place about it."

Gus chuckled as he draped the familiar cape over Jason. "Let me guess. Guys love it, girls... not so much?"

Jason raised an eyebrow. "How’d you know?"

"I’ve been cutting hair long enough to know how these things go," Gus said, switching on the clippers. "So what’s the plan today? You want to take it back to something safer? Maybe a crew cut?"

Jason nodded instinctively. The thought of going back to something familiar, something less extreme, felt comforting. But then, as he opened his mouth to agree, something stopped him. He glanced in the mirror, staring at the flattop again. It was bold, sure—but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Beneath the nerves, he had to admit that the sharp lines gave him a look of confidence he hadn’t had before.

Gus was waiting, clippers poised. Jason’s heart thudded in his chest. "Actually... no," he said, surprising even himself. "Same cut. Just... make it shorter."

Gus blinked, then smiled. "Shorter, huh? You’re leaning into it. I like that."

Jason swallowed hard. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Without another word, Gus adjusted the guard on the clippers and got to work. The buzz of the clippers filled the shop as Jason’s hair fell away, even more dramatically this time. The sides were taken down even closer to the scalp, the top trimmed shorter, the flattop now more extreme, the lines even sharper.

As Gus finished, Jason could feel the weight lifting—not just from his head, but from the nervousness that had been following him all week. He could tell this cut was more intense, more defined, but somehow, that felt right.

Gus brushed him off, turning him toward the mirror. "There you go, shorter just like you wanted."

Jason looked at himself, and this time, something clicked. It was still bold, maybe even bolder than before, but this time, it felt like a choice. His choice.

A grin crept onto his face. "You know what, Gus? I think I’m finally starting to like this."

Gus clapped him on the back. "Told ya. You’ve got the perfect hair for it."

As soon as Jason left Gus’s shop with his freshly shortened flattop, he could feel the difference. The cut was sharper, bolder, and more extreme than before, and as he walked down the street, it drew more attention. Heads turned, some subtly, others more obviously, their eyes lingering on the geometric precision of his hair.

At work the next day, the reactions came fast. One of his female coworkers, who normally greeted him with a smile, gave a polite nod before murmuring, "That’s... different."

Another woman he often chatted with in the break room didn’t bother hiding her opinion. "Wow, Jason. That’s really... aggressive." She laughed awkwardly. "I mean, it’s a choice."

He felt a twinge of embarrassment, but it was quickly smothered by something else—a strange surge of confidence. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but with every backhanded compliment or raised eyebrow, Jason stood a little straighter, his shoulders a little broader.

At lunch, the guys he usually sat with were more direct. "Dude, that flattop is sick," one of them said, genuinely impressed. "You look like a total badass."

Another slapped him on the back. "You look like you should be leading a squad, man. It’s killer."

Jason smirked. The stark difference in reactions was almost amusing, but the more people commented—whether in admiration or confusion—the more he liked it. The flattop made him feel unique, like he was making a statement without even trying.

By the end of the week, he’d gotten used to the mixed reactions. The women at his gym gave him odd looks, and the regulars at his coffee shop seemed almost uncomfortable, but every time he noticed it, a small voice inside him whispered, Good. Let them react.

Instead of shying away, he leaned into it. There was something freeing about standing out, about being different from the sea of same-same hairstyles he saw every day. It made him feel... powerful.

Two weeks later, without hesitation, Jason found himself back in Gus’s chair. Gus grinned when he saw him. "Back already?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah. Same cut. Maybe even a little shorter this time."

Gus raised an eyebrow, amused. "You’re liking it now, huh?"

Jason grinned back, his confidence solid. "More than I thought I would."

Once again, Gus went to work, he took the sides down all the way to the smooth skin and the top flattened to razor-sharp precision. By now, the hum of the clippers was almost comforting. Each pass seemed to solidify the sense of ownership Jason had over his look.

When Gus finished and turned him toward the mirror, Jason took in the sight. The flattop was even tighter, cleaner, and sharper than before. It stood out more than ever, a perfect contrast to the blurred, indistinct styles he saw on the streets every day.

"That’s it," Jason said, running his hand over the top. "This is my cut."

Gus chuckled. "I knew you’d come around. See you in two weeks?"

Jason didn’t hesitate. "You know it."

And two weeks later, Jason was back. And two weeks after that. Each time, the reactions from others remained mixed—some people openly disliked it, others couldn’t stop complimenting him—but with each comment, Jason only grew more confident. The more unique the haircut made him feel, the more he embraced it.

No longer just a haircut, the flattop had become something more: a declaration that he didn’t care what others thought. It was his look, and he owned it.

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