Under Roger’s Wing by BarberedStrong

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The sun was beginning to set as the smells of charred burgers and sizzling hot dogs filled the backyard. Jason leaned against the fence, nursing a soda as he watched his father, as usual, try too hard to impress. His dad stood in the middle of the group, gesticulating wildly, cracking some off-beat joke while wearing his usual plain polo shirt, baggy jeans, and sandals. Classic Dad, Jason thought.

But Jason’s attention wasn’t really on his father—it was on him.

Standing at the grill, flipping burgers with almost military precision, was Roger Stevens, the new boss at his dad’s firm. He’d been introduced earlier that week, a 42-year-old former Marine with an intimidating presence. Jason had never seen anyone like him before. It wasn’t just his broad shoulders, his towering frame, or the confident way he commanded the room without even trying. It was his hair.

Jason took another sip of his soda and glanced at the man again, specifically at the sharp, rigid line of his flattop. The horseshoe shape was unlike anything Jason had ever seen, the hair on top cropped into a precise ring with everything else cleanly shaven. It was the kind of haircut that screamed control, discipline, and masculinity.

"He's something, huh?" came a voice beside him.

Jason flinched. It was his dad, holding two beers, oblivious to the reverence his son felt in that moment.

"Yeah... yeah, he is," Jason muttered, not taking his eyes off Roger, who seemed to flip each patty as if it were a mission.

"Roger’s a good guy," his dad continued, clearly basking in the association. "Hell of a worker, too. Everyone at the firm respects him. Figures, right? With a military background like his. Anyway, he’s grilling the best burgers in the world right now, so you might wanna get one before they're gone."

Jason nodded absentmindedly. His mind wasn’t on the burgers. He was stuck on that haircut, how it contrasted his own scruffy mop, which fell in careless waves down to his shoulders. He shoved a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling embarrassed by the mess.

Roger finished grilling and walked over to join the small group at the picnic table. Jason's dad immediately sidled up to him, offering a beer. "Here you go, Roger! One of the local favorites. You’ll love it."

Roger smiled—just a hint of a smile—and accepted the beer. "Thanks, Steve," he said in that deep, steady voice of his. Then his eyes met Jason’s.

"Hey, kid," Roger said. "You’re Steve’s son, right? Jason?"

Jason straightened up, swallowing hard. "Yeah. That’s me."

"You workin’ at the firm this summer?" Roger asked, taking a sip of his beer.

"Uh, yeah. Interning."

Roger nodded, his gaze calm but penetrating, the kind that made you feel like you should sit up straight. "Good experience. Your dad says you’re a smart one."

Jason felt the heat rise to his face. He didn't know why. Maybe it was the way Roger just seemed so composed, so sure of himself. So unlike his dad. So unlike him.

"You think so?" Jason muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm just trying to figure stuff out, you know."

Roger studied him for a moment, then nodded as if he'd heard those words before. "Nothing wrong with that," he said. "But if you want some advice—confidence goes a long way. Trust yourself. People notice it."

Jason nodded, barely hearing him. His eyes drifted back to that flattop, the way the clean lines looked almost severe, but still oddly... appealing. How does he pull that off? Jason thought.

"So," Roger said, setting his beer down, "what do you think of the firm so far?"

Jason blinked, snapping back to attention. "Oh, it's... yeah, it’s good. I mean, it’s different. My dad’s been there forever, so I kinda knew what to expect, but... now with you there, things feel... I dunno, like there’s more structure, more purpose."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "Structure’s important. Especially in a place like that."

Jason shifted on his feet. "Yeah, for sure. You, uh... you were in the Marines, right?"

Roger nodded. "Twenty years."

"Wow. That’s... that’s intense."

Roger chuckled, a low rumble. "It had its moments."

Jason hesitated, then blurted, "Your haircut, it's—" He stopped himself, feeling stupid for even bringing it up. But Roger’s gaze was steady, waiting.

Jason cleared his throat, trying to save face. "It’s... cool. Like, it really suits you."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Roger’s mouth. "Thanks. It’s practical. Stays out of the way, doesn’t require much maintenance."

"Yeah, I... I guess I’ve just never seen one like that up close before."

Roger eyed Jason for a moment, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. "Your hair's a little long for my taste, but... hey, to each their own."

Jason flushed, suddenly self-conscious about the shaggy waves hanging down past his ears. He ran a hand through his hair again. "Yeah, I guess I’ve been... lazy with it."

Roger shrugged. "It’s just hair, kid. But sometimes, how you present yourself can make a difference. People judge you before you even say a word."

Jason nodded, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He felt awkward, like a teenager being lectured by a coach, yet at the same time, he couldn’t deny how much Roger’s words were sinking in.

Roger’s gaze softened a bit. "Anyway, no rush. You’ll figure it out. Just make sure when you do, you own it. Confidence, remember?"

Jason nodded again, his mind racing. He wanted to impress this man, more than he could understand. Something about Roger’s presence made him feel like he should be... more. Stronger. More assertive. Maybe even... sharper.

And as Roger walked away, Jason couldn't shake the thought running through his mind: maybe it was time for a change.


The next morning, Jason stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the collar of a button-up shirt he hadn’t worn in months. His closet wasn’t exactly filled with business attire, but he’d pieced together the most professional outfit he could find: a crisp white shirt, dark slacks, and loafers that still squeaked a little from lack of use. It wasn’t required—the office was pretty casual—but for some reason, he felt like today needed something more.

Roger’s words from the barbecue stuck with him. Confidence goes a long way. People notice it.

Jason frowned at his reflection. His shirt was fine, but his hair was the problem. The wavy locks that had always been part of his laid-back look now seemed... out of place. He grabbed some gel from the bathroom shelf, squeezed more than necessary into his hand, and tried to slick it back. But his hair refused to cooperate, bouncing back into its usual disheveled waves after every attempt.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath, staring at the mirror. He didn’t have Roger’s sharp, disciplined flattop. His hair just wouldn’t behave.

Giving up, he pushed it back as best he could, running his fingers through it one last time before heading out the door.

At the office, Jason immediately felt out of place. His usual intern attire of jeans and a loose t-shirt would have blended in with the other staff, who were dressed casually, as always. But today, he stood out in his formal clothes like he was about to give a boardroom presentation.

He spotted Roger in the break room, chatting with a few employees. Jason hesitated before walking in, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He wasn’t sure why, but something in him wanted Roger to see him—really see him. He grabbed a coffee cup, trying to act natural.

"Jason," Roger’s deep voice boomed from behind. Jason tensed up.

He turned to see Roger walking toward him, that same commanding presence filling the room. Roger’s eyes scanned Jason’s outfit, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You look... sharp today."

Jason smiled awkwardly, unsure whether it was a compliment or not. "Yeah, I, uh, just figured I’d... dress up a little."

Roger chuckled, low and easy. "You expecting a meeting with the board or something?"

Jason’s cheeks burned. He knew Roger was teasing, but somehow, it still stung. "Nah, just... trying to make a good impression, I guess."

Roger leaned against the counter, still watching him with that same calm, analytical gaze. "Not bad. You cleaned up nice. Though..." He gestured vaguely at Jason’s hair. "...your hair’s still got a mind of its own, huh?"

Jason forced a laugh, running his hand through his unruly waves again. "Yeah. Tried to slick it back, but... you know."

Roger nodded, his smile fading into something more thoughtful. "Takes time. If you want it to stick, sometimes you gotta start fresh. Maybe even take a little risk."

Jason’s heart sank. He wasn’t sure if Roger was just making small talk or if there was a deeper meaning in his words. But either way, it felt like a subtle jab, a reminder that no matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t quite measuring up.

"I get it," Jason muttered, staring down at his coffee. "I’m still figuring it out."

Roger clapped him on the shoulder, firm but not unkind. "Don’t sweat it, kid. You’re doing fine. Just remember—whatever you decide, make sure it’s you."

Jason nodded, though the words felt heavier than they should. He wanted to impress Roger, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was falling short. It wasn’t just the hair, or the outfit—it was something deeper. He wanted to be more... sure of himself, like Roger was.

As Roger walked out of the break room, Jason stood there, staring at his reflection in the glass of the vending machine. His reflection looked back: a young guy in too-formal clothes, with hair that didn’t match the rest of him.

Maybe it’s time for a change, he thought. A real one.

Friday had finally arrived, and Jason exhaled as he stuffed his laptop into his bag. It had been a long week—longer than usual. He’d stuck with his more polished look all week, even though the dress code didn’t require it. Each day felt like a quiet performance, one where Roger was the only audience member Jason cared about, even though their interactions were few and far between.

Every once in a while, Jason would catch Roger’s eye from across the office floor. There’d be a slight nod, maybe a hint of a smile from Roger, but that was it. No conversations, no meaningful exchanges. Still, Jason kept pushing himself, wearing his best shirts, trying his best to keep his hair from falling into its usual shaggy state.

Why am I doing this? he thought as he headed to the parking garage, his tie feeling like it was choking him. He was tired—mentally and physically—from a week of trying to be something he wasn’t even sure he understood.

The sound of footsteps echoed in the dimly lit garage, and Jason turned to see Roger coming toward him, his broad frame casting long shadows against the concrete.

"Late night?" Roger asked, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

Jason nodded, trying to hide his surprise. "Yeah, just finishing up a few things. You too?"

Roger shrugged. "Wrapping up some last-minute emails. Thought I’d get out before the weekend started." He paused, his eyes scanning Jason’s tired but still somewhat polished look. "You’ve been keeping up with the whole ‘dress to impress’ thing all week, huh?"

Jason chuckled, though it came out a little awkward. "Yeah, just trying to... you know, make an effort."

Roger gave him a small nod, the kind that made Jason feel both seen and not quite there yet. "Noticed that. You’re doing alright, Jason. I respect the effort."

Jason’s heart raced a little at the acknowledgment, even though it was just a few words. It felt like validation, like maybe all the work he’d put into trying to impress Roger hadn’t been for nothing.

They walked in silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off the garage walls. As they neared the exit, Roger stopped and turned to face Jason.

"Listen," Roger said, his tone more casual now, "I’m heading to my barber in a bit. Bi-weekly tune-up. You should come with me."

Jason blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, I, uh..."

Roger smiled, just a hint of it. "No pressure, kid. But I know you’ve been thinking about that mop of yours all week. Thought maybe you could use a change. Or at least see what it’s like."

Jason stood there, unsure how to respond. Part of him wanted to decline, to say he wasn’t ready for something like that. But the other part of him—the part that had been itching for something more, something definite—felt drawn to the idea.

He glanced at Roger, whose eyes were steady, calm, and patient. The man wasn’t pushing him. He was offering something... a chance, maybe.

"Yeah," Jason finally said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I’d like that."

Roger’s smile widened, just a little, and he nodded. "Alright. Let’s go."

The drive was quiet, except for the low hum of the engine and a classic rock station playing softly through the speakers. Jason stared out the window, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach, but they wouldn’t go away. He had no idea what was about to happen, or why he’d even agreed to come. He wasn’t ready for something like this. A haircut was just a haircut, right? But somehow, it felt bigger.

When they pulled up to the shop, Jason immediately knew this wasn’t any ordinary barbershop. The exterior was plain—almost nondescript, like a building that didn’t care about appearances. Inside, though, it was alive with the buzz of clippers and the low murmur of conversation.

The shop was spartan, almost military in its simplicity. The walls were bare, except for a few black-and-white photos of soldiers and maybe a framed flag or two. The floor was gray concrete, worn down from years of boots and work shoes. There were no frills, no fancy decor, just rows of barber chairs and men waiting for their turn. The place was packed—barbers moving with efficiency, clipper guards snapping on and off, as men of all ages sat in the chairs, getting variations of the same styles: high and tight, buzz cuts, fades. Every cut was sharp, neat, clean. All clippers, no scissors.

The crowd was mostly working-class, military types. Jason could tell just by looking at them—their strong, weathered hands, the grease stains still fresh on a few shirts, the straight-backed posture of some of the older men, clearly veterans. These were men who knew hard work, who didn’t need to explain themselves to anyone. Jason felt out of place in his slacks and button-up, his long, unruly hair marking him as an outsider in a sea of clean-cut men.

Roger led the way through the shop, past the rows of waiting customers. A few of the barbers nodded in recognition, but one in particular waved from the back—Bud, Roger’s barber. He was an older guy, probably mid-fifties, with a thick mustache and forearms that looked like they could bend steel. He gave Roger a friendly grin and motioned toward the empty chair.

"It’ll be a bit of a wait, kid," Roger said, glancing at Jason. "Bud’s popular around here."

Jason nodded, trying to act casual, but his nerves were shot. The longer he stood in the shop, the more out of place he felt. The men here were tough, confident, and they all seemed to share a quiet understanding—like they were all part of the same unspoken club. And then there was Jason, with his messy hair and preppy clothes, feeling like he’d wandered into the wrong room.

They found seats along the wall. Roger leaned back, relaxed as ever, while Jason sat stiffly, his foot tapping nervously against the floor.

Roger kept the conversation light, talking about the office, the upcoming projects at the firm, and a little about his Marine days. But he never once mentioned the reason they were there. He didn’t push Jason, didn’t make any comments about his hair or what kind of cut he should get. It almost felt like a normal conversation, but Jason could barely focus on the words. His mind kept drifting to the clippers buzzing all around them, the steady snip-snip-snip of hair falling to the floor.

What kind of cut am I even going to get? Jason wondered, his heart racing. He’d never had a clipper cut before—never even considered one. His hair had always been long, wavy, loose. Now, the idea of letting those clippers near his head made his stomach twist in knots.

And yet, part of him was intrigued. Watching these men sit down in the chair, relax as the barbers worked their clippers with precision, Jason could feel a pull—a strange curiosity. What would it feel like to shed that much hair? To look sharp, like Roger?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bud called out, "Roger, you’re up."

Roger stood and gave Jason a casual nod. "Back in a bit."

Jason watched as Roger walked to the chair, sat down, and greeted Bud like an old friend. There was no small talk, no need to explain what he wanted. Bud already knew. Without a word, Bud grabbed his clippers, and the hum of the machine filled the air.

Jason’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the transformation begin. Bud started at Roger’s temple, pressing the clippers into his skin, stripping the sides of his head down to bare skin with clean, sweeping motions. The hair fell away in thick chunks, revealing the smooth, pale scalp beneath. Jason couldn’t take his eyes off it. The speed and precision of it all—the ruthless efficiency with which Bud carved through Roger’s hair—was mesmerizing.

And then came the top. Bud switched clipper guards and began carving out the flattop, shaping the perfect horseshoe, leaving a strip of hair down the middle of Roger’s head. Jason’s stomach flipped when he saw the landing strip emerge—a sharp, bald path down the center of Roger’s scalp, bordered by neatly cropped hair.

Jason swallowed hard, his palms sweaty as he watched. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a mix of awe and... something else. Why am I even here? he thought, panicking. He wasn’t like these men. He wasn’t cut from the same cloth. So why did he want to be?

Roger sat in the chair, completely still, his face calm as Bud worked his magic. He didn’t flinch, didn’t fidget, just sat there with the kind of confidence Jason had been chasing all week.

When Bud finished, Roger looked exactly like he had when Jason had first met him—sharp, clean, intimidating. He glanced at Jason through the mirror, his eyes meeting Jason’s with an easy smile.

"Your turn?" Roger asked, his voice casual but steady.

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. Am I really going to do this?

Jason’s legs felt like jelly as he slowly made his way to the chair. His mouth was dry, and his mind was racing. What am I doing? He could feel Roger’s eyes on him as he sat down. The chair squeaked under him, and Bud, towering behind, reached for the cape. Jason glanced at the mirror, seeing his shaggy, untamed hair one last time as Bud fastened the cape snugly around his neck.

Roger didn’t sit this time. He stood right next to the chair, arms folded, watching Jason with a curious, yet supportive expression. Jason swallowed hard, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.

Bud’s voice broke the silence. "Alright, what are we doing today?"

Jason froze, his mind completely blank. He’d been so fixated on watching Roger’s transformation that he hadn’t even thought about what to say for himself. The words didn’t come. He stammered, looking from Bud to Roger, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Uh... just like his," Jason finally managed, though it was so quiet that Bud leaned in, asking him to repeat it.

Jason cleared his throat, feeling the weight of his own voice now. "Just like his," he said again, a little louder, his eyes darting nervously toward Roger’s clean, sharp flattop.

Roger blinked, clearly surprised. He leaned in, his voice calm but questioning. "You sure about that, kid?"

Jason shrugged, his heart racing, not trusting himself to answer. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what he was doing, but something in him felt like this was the right step. Maybe it was the nerves. Maybe it was just him wanting to feel that same confidence Roger had. Whatever it was, Jason knew he had to go through with it now.

Roger gave him a long look, then turned to Bud. "Alright, not just like mine," Roger said, his voice firm but thoughtful. "Let’s make it nice and flat. Tight sides for sure, but make him look like he stepped out of a ‘50s yearbook. A good, traditional flat for the first time."

Jason gripped the armrests of the chair, his knuckles turning white. The air felt thick with tension. He was really doing this. I can’t back out now, he thought, trying to calm the fluttering in his chest. Bud, with a slow, confident grin, placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder.

"Alright, kid," Bud said, picking up his clippers with a practiced ease. "Let’s make a man out of you."

Jason’s stomach dropped as the clippers roared to life. He clenched his jaw, staring straight ahead at his reflection, barely able to breathe. Bud moved quickly, starting with the sides. The moment the clippers touched Jason’s temple, he felt the vibration against his scalp. Hair fell in thick chunks onto the cape, tumbling down onto the floor as Bud swept the clippers in smooth, even strokes.

Jason watched in wide-eyed silence as his thick, wavy hair vanished, exposing pale skin beneath. The clippers moved methodically around his head, stripping away the length on the sides until there was nothing left but stubble. His ears, which had always been hidden under his messy locks, now stood out, exposed to the cool air of the shop.

Bud switched clipper guards and moved to the back, repeating the same process, cutting higher and tighter until Jason’s sides were smooth and crisp. The sensation was strange—light, almost freeing—but he couldn’t shake the tight grip he had on the chair.

Roger watched intently, arms still folded, but his eyes never left Jason’s reflection. He nodded slightly, as if reassuring Jason without saying a word. Jason could feel the heat of Roger’s presence next to him, a strange comfort amidst the tension.

When Bud finished with the sides, he clicked the clippers off and reached for a comb. Jason’s heart raced as he saw Bud study the top of his head, preparing to carve out the flat. This was the part that had made his stomach twist in knots earlier. The thought of a flat, structured top was so foreign to him. He had never had anything remotely close to this.

Bud worked meticulously, combing Jason’s hair upward, clipping away small sections with precision. The clippers buzzed again, and Bud began flattening the top, shaping it into the perfect square. Each pass of the clippers was slow and deliberate, shaving the top until it was level, the hair standing upright like a neatly cut hedge. As the shape began to form, Jason’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel the weight of the change happening, as if every stroke of the clippers was shedding not just hair, but something deeper.

Roger stepped closer, watching Bud’s work with an approving nod. "Looking sharp, kid," he said quietly, his voice steady. "You’re doing fine."

Jason’s grip on the armrests relaxed slightly at Roger’s words, but the knots in his stomach remained. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this. He wasn’t sure what he would look like at the end, or if he’d even recognize himself.

Finally, Bud tilted Jason’s head slightly forward, carefully creating the signature landing strip down the middle. The clippers buzzed close to Jason’s scalp, and in a matter of seconds, a bare path of skin ran down the center of his head, flanked by the perfectly sculpted flat sides.

Jason stared at his reflection, his heart hammering in his chest. The boy he had been all his life—the one with the messy, untamed hair—was gone. In his place was someone new. Someone who looked sharper, tougher, more confident.

Bud clicked the clippers off and stepped back, admiring his work. He grabbed a handheld mirror and showed Jason the back, revealing the smooth taper up to the flat top. "What do you think?" Bud asked with a satisfied grin.

Jason stared, speechless. He didn’t know what to think. He barely recognized himself. But one thing was clear: he didn’t look like the unsure, aimless kid he’d been a few minutes ago.

Roger clapped him on the back, his grin wide. "Told you, kid. Looks like you just stepped out of the ‘50s." He gave a quick nod to Bud. "Great work, as usual."

Jason swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah... looks good." His reflection stared back, but he felt like someone else entirely.

Jason reached for his wallet as Bud dusted off the last remnants of hair from his shoulders. The chair felt so much bigger now that the haircut was over, and his head felt incredibly light, almost exposed. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the change just yet, but it was done. He stood up, ready to pay and get out of there, when Roger placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"This one’s on me, kid," Roger said, his tone casual but leaving no room for argument.

Jason froze, his wallet half-open in his hands. "Oh, no, I can—"

Roger cut him off with a smirk. "You can pay in two weeks."

Jason blinked. "Two weeks?"

Roger folded his arms again, his gaze steady. "Yeah. You’re coming back in two weeks. Can’t just let a flattop grow out like that."

Jason’s mind raced. Coming back? He hadn’t even thought about the maintenance that a haircut like this required. His whole life, he’d been used to getting his hair cut once every few months—maybe even longer if he felt lazy. But the idea of keeping a flattop meant regular trips to the barber, and the thought of being kept in this cut was a lot to take in. His heart sank a little, feeling the weight of this sudden change, something he hadn’t fully realized when he first sat in the chair.

Roger, perceptive as ever, caught the hesitation in Jason’s eyes. "Look, kid," he said, his voice firm but kind. "I get it. This is different for you. It’s a change. But you’re the one who sat down and asked for it. You’re not some kid anymore, floating through life. You’ve got responsibilities. You want to make something of yourself, right?"

Jason nodded slowly, feeling a mix of shame and confusion. "Yeah… I just didn’t think—"

"That’s the thing," Roger interrupted, his tone a little sharper now. "You did think. You’ve been thinking about this all week, haven’t you? Dressing up, slicking back that mess of hair, trying to figure out what it means to be a man. Well, guess what? Being a man means sticking to something. This flattop? It’s not just about the haircut. It’s about commitment, about showing up and keeping it tight—just like everything else in life."

Jason felt his grip tighten on the wallet again, not out of nerves this time, but because Roger’s words were sinking in. He hadn’t realized it before, but Roger was right. This wasn’t just about the haircut. This was about making a decision and following through with it.

"You’ve been trying to impress me," Roger continued, his voice softening slightly. "And I get it. You’ve got potential, Jason. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. You need to figure out who you are and stick to it. The flattop? It’s just a symbol. A sharp, clean look that says you’re serious. So yeah, in two weeks, you’ll come back, and you’ll get it cleaned up. Not because I told you to. But because you chose this."

Jason’s chest tightened, but in a different way this time. It wasn’t the panic he’d felt before—it was resolve. Roger was right. He had been floating through life, unsure of himself, unsure of what he wanted. This haircut, though... it was a start. A way to show himself, and the world, that he could stick to something. That he could be serious.

Jason nodded slowly, his voice quiet but determined. "Alright. Two weeks."

Roger grinned, clapping him on the back. "Good man." Then he turned to Bud, giving him a wink. "We’ll see you then."

Jason left the shop with a new haircut, a new look, and the weight of a new responsibility on his shoulders. The two-week clock was already ticking.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Jason assumed Roger would drive him back to his car. But when Roger made a turn that led deeper into the city, Jason couldn’t help but ask, "Uh, where are we going?"

Roger glanced over with a grin. "To the boxing gym. I need a new sparring partner, and you’re it."

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. "Wait, me? I’ve never even worked out before, let alone boxed."

Roger chuckled. "Don’t worry about that. I’ll teach you. You’ll pick it up."

Jason wasn’t so sure, but there was something in Roger’s voice—calm, confident, like everything he said just made sense. Before Jason could protest, they pulled up to the gym. The building looked rough, worn down from the outside, but Jason could hear the thud of gloves hitting bags and the low rumble of voices as they walked in.

The place was alive with energy. The air smelled like sweat and leather, and the sound of punches landing filled the space. Jason felt out of place immediately—guys here were solid, built, with lean muscles and tight cuts. He didn’t exactly fit the part, with his still-drying flattop and a body that had never seen a day in the gym.

Roger didn’t seem to care. He led the way to a corner locker and tossed Jason some clothes. "Here, change into these."

Jason caught the clothes, unfolding a pair of olive-green silkies and a cutoff tank top. He looked down at them, unsure, but when Roger raised an eyebrow, Jason knew he didn’t have much of a choice. He quickly changed in the locker room and stepped out, feeling awkward and exposed in the tight, short silkies. As he adjusted the tank top, two guys passing by the locker gave him a once-over and smirked.

"Hey, Roger. This your kid?" one of them asked with a playful tone.

Jason nearly blushed, his face heating up, but Roger just shrugged with a half-smile. "Not exactly, but I’m working on him."

The men chuckled, giving Jason a nod as they passed. He felt his face burn but, weirdly, he also kind of liked it. There was something thrilling about being connected to Roger, even in this teasing way.

"Come on," Roger said, waving him over to the ring. "Let’s get to work."

The workout was brutal. Roger didn’t hold back, putting Jason through drills that pushed his body to the limit. They started with basic footwork, then moved to jabs and hooks, Roger demonstrating each move with the kind of precision and power that left Jason in awe. Every punch Roger threw was perfect, sharp, efficient. Jason could barely keep up, his muscles screaming in protest as he tried to mimic the moves.

But as the rounds went on, something shifted. Jason started to get into the rhythm, feeling the sweat drip down his face, his heart pounding in his chest. Roger barked instructions, correcting his stance, his form, pushing him harder than Jason had ever been pushed before. And despite the exhaustion, Jason loved it. He loved the focus, the attention from Roger, the feeling that he was finally doing something real.

By the time they finished, Jason was drenched and exhausted, but he didn’t want it to end. As they sat on a bench, gulping down water, Jason looked over at Roger. "Can we come back? I mean, could I come back here?"

Roger raised an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at his lips. "You want to?"

Jason nodded, still catching his breath. "Yeah. I like it. I want to get better."

Roger studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I’ll train you. But it’s gonna take commitment. Discipline. This isn’t a one-time thing."

Jason grinned, feeling a surge of excitement and relief. "I’m in."

Later, they drove back to Roger’s house, where they grabbed a couple of beers and crashed on the couch, their bodies still buzzing from the workout. Jason felt a strange kind of high, not just from the physical exertion but from everything—being around Roger, feeling like he was finally on a path, something he’d never had before.

As the night went on, Jason found himself opening up more. "I’ve never really had this kind of discipline," he admitted, swirling his beer. "I mean, my dad—he’s not exactly... you know, the type to push this kind of stuff."

Roger nodded, listening but not interrupting. "That’s alright. You’re here now. I’ll show you what you need."

Jason felt a swell of gratitude, almost like... admiration? Maybe something more. It felt strange, but he shook the thought off. It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be.

By the time the night wound down, Jason was too exhausted to drive back to his own place. Roger offered him the spare room, and Jason didn’t hesitate. He collapsed onto the bed, reeling from everything—the haircut, the workout, the way his life had shifted so suddenly.

The next morning, Jason woke up early, his body sore but feeling good. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his new flattop. He ran a hand over it, unsure how to style it. He tried to pat it down, but it wasn’t quite right.

"Need some help?" Roger’s voice came from the doorway.

Jason jumped, spinning around to see Roger leaning against the doorframe, smirking. He held up a can of hair wax. "You’ve gotta train that thing," he said, stepping into the bathroom behind Jason. "Here, let me show you."

Roger moved in close, guiding Jason’s hands with the wax, showing him how to press the sides and level out the top. Jason caught a glimpse of their reflection—Roger, standing tall behind him, his hands steady and sure. There was something about it—about the closeness, the way Roger knew exactly what to do—that sent a weird flutter through Jason’s chest. Was it envy? Admiration? Or something more?

"There you go," Roger said, stepping back and giving him a once-over. "Now you’re looking sharp."

Jason stared at himself in the mirror, feeling... different. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt good. He liked the way Roger had guided him, how he made everything seem easy, like Jason could do anything if Roger was behind him.

He turned to face Roger, trying to keep his voice steady. "Thanks. For everything."

Roger just nodded, that calm confidence never wavering. "No problem, kid. We’ll get you where you need to be."

Jason felt that same flutter again but pushed it aside. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he was sure of one thing: whatever this was, whatever Roger was showing him, he was all in.

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