The Peach State by TheSouthernTraveler

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hi y'all, this is TheFellowTraveler coming through with a little rebrand. Hope you enjoy it!

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I had just put the clippers down when I noticed Jack leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face.

"Y’know," he said with a nod to the floor, "you could open up a barbershop if this engineering thing doesn’t work out."

The object of his attention were the small mounds of hair on the floor: the small clumps of short black hair were few in numbers and even fewer in size; I had just finished giving myself my weekly trim around the sides and back, leaving the top for the next time because my bangs were short enough for now, with their mid-forehead length when combed down.

As for the engineering thing: the work on my PhD was a slow and painful process, and he, with his degree already done, liked to rub it in from time to time.

He’d done it a number of times since I moved in with him four months ago, and in return, I teased him for his inability to grow facial hair past a mustache he always ditched, while I kept my beard well-groomed and shaped at its 6mm length.

"I’ll let you know if I do," I said and pointed to him with the little brush that I used to clean the clippers. "That hair of yours is wasted on a simple side part."

He kept it in a grown-out undercut, whose sides and back needed a trim months ago, and he always wore it with his bangs lazily swept-up and left to gently curl at the corner of his forehead. His auburn hair was thick, with a shine and body like no other I’d seen; as if that wasn’t enough blessings from the hair gods, it also had good volume, never falling flat against his scalp.

I must admit: I sometimes wondered what it would feel like to play with that strand of hair that fell over the corner of his forehead. As if he’d read my thoughts aloud, Jack chuckled, looking down at the ceiling again; the warm light of our lightbulb followed the motion through his hair, gilding his swept up bangs and the barely combed-through bedhead on which they landed. "So, about that, actually…"

I raised an eyebrow as he walked into the bathroom with his head still down and his arms still crossed over his shoulders; watching him as he made his way to the lip of the tub behind me in the reflection of the mirror gave for a chance to see his face: it wasn’t worried, angry or anything alike; his smile had in fact spread wider and lost some of its snarkiness, and by the time he’d met my eyes, it seemed genuine.

"Mind if we talk for a bit?" he asked softly and I nodded. I washed my hands to get rid of any stowaway hairs that had evaded the hard-bristled brush and sat down next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Sure. What’s on your mind?" I asked, bumping my shoulder into his; this caused a small chuckle in response.

"As you know, Katie and I broke up three weeks ago." I sure did; it was the most amicable breakup I had ever witnessed, and as such, it stuck around in my mind. The reason was that their plans for the future had changed: after two years of dating, Katie wanted to settle down and start building a family, which was something Jack wasn’t ready for since he’d come to realize that his affections weren’t only towards the opposite gender.

"Well, I realized that I mainly kept my hair like this because she liked it this way â€" she liked running her fingers through it and playing with it when we cuddled." He looked at me and gave me a small smile that didn’t meet his eyes. "Not much of that happening lately, as you already know."

My hand found its way to his shoulder before I even thought about it properly.

We weren’t much more than acquaintances before I moved in; we lived in different cities â€" he moved from the city where we went to university after he graduated, and I happened to move here as well now.

Other than being in the same friend circle five years ago and occasionally attending the same conferences, our paths crossed rarely; still though, it felt almost natural to hold my hand on his shoulder and softly rub my thumb against his shoulder blade, as if it knew where to plant itself before I had the chance to think whether he’d even like it there.

Jack hung his head again and whispered a small thank you in return. We sat like that for a moment, my hand on his shoulder as he ran his hands back and forth over his face, until he took a deep breath and straightened his back. I retracted my hand at this, wanting to give him space; in return, he turned around to face me. His eyes were reddish, and despite the teary streaks of silver on their lids, the green eyes had a small glint in them that, in the warm light of our bathroom and the background buzz of electric devices, I thought to be optimistic.

"So, seeing as I have no one to run their fingers through my hair at the moment," he said as he blinked away the tears and raised the corners of his mouth into a smile, "how would you feel about giving me that much-needed cut?"

It was my turn to chuckle; nervously this time, though. "Jack, I was joking earlier," I ran my hand through my own freshly cut hair and hooked it around the back of my neck. "Your hair looks fine the way it is, I promise."

Nodding at the nearby mirror, he directed my attention to his reflection. "It’s starting to settle in that Katie’s actually gone. I deleted all our photos from my phone, packed up all her leftover stuff and sent it to her today; at this point, I can either start being a mess or I can change things up a bit so that I am not reminded of the breakup all the time."

He turned to me again. "And I don’t want to be a mess, Henry. I don’t regret the breakup; it was sensible then and it still is now, so the only thing left to do is to start picking myself up again. So, that haircut â€" what do you say?"

"I say that you have a barber who will cut your hair nicely and properly. It’s been ages since I cut hair that wasn’t my own."

"My barber’s not available until Friday," he said, and before I had the chance to say that Friday was only two days away, he added, "of next week. You can hopefully see why nine days seems like an eternity to me right now."

I nodded with a sigh. "Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll cut your hair, but I’ll tell you right now that I don’t know how to do those fancy fades that start from zero and go up, so don’t expect one of those."

Jack chuckled. "I just need a simple, short cut; a fresh start, if you will."

I raised my hand - again with that darn hand, running around with a mind of its own - and before I asked if I could run it through his hair, he saw it and near-instantly leaned in closer, almost positioning himself for it.

As my fingers swooped into the bulk on top, all I could think about was how soft his hair was to the touch; it slid against my skin like silk, gently tickling the spaces between my fingers as it passed beneath them. It was long overdue for a cut indeed: an unruly strand or two stuck out here and there, poking out at his crown and around his temples; it had grown past the top of his ear into a length that was satisfying to tuck back in with my fingers as they made their way down the side of his head.

It is maybe a little shameful to admit so openly, but I could’ve spent the rest of my day just playing with his hair if he’d continue being so content with it. Best not to push my luck, though; I ran my fingers through his hair once more, to comb it into something resembling a side part again, then pulled them out of it. My hand remained at my side, not devoid of a desire to go back.

He raised his eyebrow inquisitively. "Well, what’s the prognosis?"

"We’ve got our work cut out for us, for sure," I said, making sure to accentuate the word cut and winked to emphasize it even more dazzlingly; it was an attempt to remove that sadness in his eye, even if only for a moment, and admittedly, the whole thing sounded better in my head. "Good lord, I suck at puns."

Jack tried to keep a straight face at first, straightening his lips and nodding; he eventually broke into a quick laugh despite it. "Oh my, you â€" you sure do. That was the worst pun I ever heard. Never give stand-up comedy a hand, okay?"

I waved my hand at him, unable to meet his eye as laughter climbed up my throat as well; this sent him into another good chuckle, a sound that warmed my heart a little.

It might’ve not been the best of my judgment, with us potentially not being this close, but: I wrapped my arm around his back and pulled him closer, to which, surprisingly, he didn’t object; instead, he leaned his head against my shoulder, the rest of his body softly leaning against mine. I wanted to tell him that I’ve got his back, but that would’ve been an even worse pun; it was unnecessary, though, because soon enough, his arm found its way around my back as well, and we remained like that for a few good, long minutes.


*


Twenty-four hours later, here he was, sitting in the middle of the kitchen where I had just finished caping him up.

I was expecting him to cancel the haircut at any minute throughout the day, either through a text or by telling it to my face when I got back home; to my surprise, he didn’t bail, and he even went so far as to make me dinner as a thank you in advance.

When the cape was set in place, I put my hands on his shoulders. "I have to ask," I said, "even if only for the sake of my conscience: are you sure you want me to cut your hair, and to cut it short?"

He sighed loudly, threw his head back and leaned it against my forearms, locking eyes with me. There was the hint of a playful, excited spark in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a long time and with it, the lack of that weariness that had settled in after the breakup; I didn’t know that absence could be beautiful until just now.

"Henry," he said my name softly, "if you don’t pick those clippers up right now and get to it, I’ll do it myself. This is happening tonight, with or without you."

Now it was my turn to sigh. I tapped him on the tip of his nose and provoked a smile with it. "You are as stubborn as they make ‘em, mister. Alright; exactly how short do you wanna go?"

He blinked. "Huh. I’ll admit that I didn’t think about that too much; I just need it to be short so that I look at myself in the mirror and be reminded that I am starting over."

"What, you wouldn’t be mad if I were to shave your head right now?"

Jack shrugged. "Frankly, I think I’d let you give me a Chelsea at this point. Is that concerning enough or should I go on?"

I couldn’t hold back my snort. "That would be more than enough, thank you."

Feeling like it might provide him with some comfort, I ran my fingers into his hairline. My right hand came up to the left side of his face, and, starting at the temple and going up to the top of his hair, I made sure to give him little scalp rubs with the base of my palm and my thumb; this, with the sort of embrace my arm had given him, seemed to invoke something that made him close his eyes and relax his face.

Once I’d decided on a hairstyle, this being nothing too drastic but still short, I stopped the impromptu massage and said: "Alright, I have something on my mind; do you trust me?"

Jack gave me a crooked smile in return. "With my life."

I ran my hand down his cheek and cupped it for a moment, then asked him to sit up straight and say a little prayer for us both; the sound of his chuckle accompanied me as I put the no. 3 guard onto the clippers and flicked the lever on.

The haircut began at his side: my left hand rested on the top of his head as my right made its way with the clippers up from the bottom of his sideburn all the way into the hair on his temple. Auburn hair cascaded down the clippers, their hungry sound satisfied; his hair was glossy even now as it landed on my hand and wrist before falling to the floor. There must’ve been at least seven centimeters of length on the temples; seeing it reduced to all of nine millimeters was strange, but exciting as well â€" it made my doubts about the whole thing grow smaller and smaller with each new pass.

The cut hair was accumulating on his shoulder; seeing the right side of his head with its bulk all trimmed off made my heart skip a beat and settle into a quicker rhythm. I worked the back of his head without any doubts, cutting right from the nape into the crown in straight lines and stacking them one next to the other. Soon enough, his hair was piling up on the floor.

His hair was parted to the left; I had to pick the bulk of the top up with my free hand before I made the first swipe of the clippers on that side. The softness of his hair against my skin made me want to bury my face in it; its long, silky strands peeked out from between my fingers and frankly, it was a struggle not to fold my hand into a fist to get a good grip on them. I have never felt this way before: my blood seems to have been pumping up and down my body with equal speed, making me slightly lightheaded upstairs and quite the opposite down south; the feeling of his hair in one hand, the vibrating of the clippers in the other and this electrifying sense that had spread through my body were more intoxicating than anything I had ever felt before.

Luckily enough for both my sanity and this haircut, I finished the debulking quickly on the left side as well and then gave myself a few seconds of deep breathing as I walked over to the table to put on a number two on the clippers and begin working on the taper: the plan was to have his hair at the sides and back be a number three at its longest and then gradually decrease to a number one at the sideburns and nape.

Little beads of sweat had formed at my own hairline. To distract myself from whatever was going on with my body, I cleared my throat and as I started tapering the haircut, spoke to Jack.

"How are you holding up over there, pal? Any regrets yet?"

He chuckled, raising his cheek and consequently, his ear, thus moving my clippers up with it. "It’s been a while since I felt air so close to my skull, and I’m enjoying every second of it."

"I’m glad to hear that," I said, putting on the number one guard now. "The haircut is shaping up nicely, too. And by the way, you have a nicely shaped head, you know? It’s not one of those egg-like heads."

I was blurting out anything that came to mind just to distract myself; Jack seemed to appreciate it, too, with a boisterous laugh that had been gone for too long. We spoke on as I worked the finishing touches of the clippers around the lowest parts of the haircut, and thankfully, whatever madness I felt subsided enough for me to stop sweating before I switched to the scissors and comb.

I didn’t wet his hair before I started cutting the top; I wanted to feel its weight between my fingers and touch against my skin while it was still long. Starting up at the front, I picked his bangs up with the comb: they were currently long enough to fall past his eyes if I dropped them. I placed my fingers five centimeters above his scalp, positioning them to cut more than half of the length off and did just that once I closed the scissors around them.

The crunch of thick hair under the blades was the only sound before the bangs dropped onto the cape, rustling against its crisp surface with their weight, all of this followed by Jack’s whistle at the sight of it. He told them goodbye with a melodic tone to his voice as I picked up more hair and kept cutting, going on and on until I’d reached the hair on his crown; this was the part of the top that was cut the shortest as I made sure to make it a decent match for the work of the clippers around it. This resulted in the hair being as long as my fingers were round, all the length that poked out between my pointer and middle finger now gone.

The finishing touches took some five more minutes; I was fully functional by then once again. At last, I put down the clippers and the scissors and stepped in front of him; my first thought upon seeing him now was a twinge of regret at not having taken a photo before the haircut.

The haircut was good, and I’d wager that it could classify as a classic ivy league cut, with its short bangs styled up and left, and the sides trimmed down heavily, but it wasn’t what made me wish to have taken a photo of him half an hour ago; it was the spark that had returned to his eyes, the soft and easygoing smile that came naturally to his face and the more upright posture of his shoulders; he was looking like the Jack I first met all that time ago.

"Well?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I take it that we’re done, so what’s it looking like? You have a darn good poker face on you, I can never tell if you’re happy or upset right."

I unclasped the cape and swiftly removed it from around his shoulders, then told him to follow me to the bathroom and see for himself. He walked in first and I remained at the threshold now, my arms tucked behind my back.

I wish I could describe the exact way his eyes lit up on that first sight of himself in the mirror; to deliver an exact reconstruction on the silvery tears that lined his eyelids, the glassiness of his green eyes, the shaky eyebrows, but what I remember best are the broad smile that had lit up his face and the way his short hair passed between his fingers as he ran his hand over the top; barely anything stuck out, and all of it landed perfectly into place once he’d dropped his hand from up there and rested it against his cheek.

His eyes met mine in the mirror once again, and before I could even register it, he had already turned around and his arms were wrapped around me in a firm, unrelenting embrace. Jack buried his face in the crook of my neck as I hugged him back, one hand on his back and the other at the back of his head.


*

It was a little after midnight now, and I’d just climbed into bed. The rest of the night after the haircut went well: Jack couldn’t stop gushing about the haircut, going even as far to show it off to our friend group and even to his parents through facetime; it received enough compliments to make me blush even now.

I was slowly drifting into sleep, all until a knock at the bedroom door stirred me awake.

"Jack? It’s unlocked, come in."

The door opened slightly, and his face popped in right after. He gave me a nod and a faint smile, then asked with a soft voice, "Did I wake you up?"

I shook my head and he continued. "I’m gonna start with saying that I’m a little ashamed to even be asking this of you, and that I’ll totally understand if you say no."

"Oh, bless your heart, get to it already, will you?"

He nodded. "So, you know how I packed up all of her stuff and sent it out yesterday? Well, I didn’t realize until tonight just how empty my room is without it, and that empty space is keeping me awake. It’s just â€" it’s too much. Look, I must’ve rolled around that bed like a sausage on a grill for about an hour before I came here â€""

I pulled my cover off of the free side of the bed. Nodding to it, I said, "Hop in."

Jack let out a deep breath and said a little stream of thank you’s, then opened the door fully, revealing that he was already carrying his pillow with him. He sat down on the free side of the bed quickly, fluffed up his pillow and made himself prostrate in the next minute.

I tried to close my eyes and try to fall asleep, but curiosity got the better of me some five minutes later; I turned to my side and looked at him, only to find him staring at my ceiling.

"Good bed you’ve got here," he said, aware of my gaze. "Really, really good bed. Is it a new mattress? I could swear that the bed wasn’t this good before you moved in."

Chuckling, I shook my head. "Jack?"

He turned around. "Yes?"

"Come here."

I raised my arm into the air and he, without complaint, rolled around and planted his face ten centimeters away from mine. He didn’t object when I put my arm around his back, nor when I put my hand at the back of his head.

After running my fingers over the sharp bristles of hair at the back of his head, I noticed that he seemed to have calmed his nerves a little, and that he himself was beginning to doze off now.

"Is this better?"

His eyes were closed now, face relaxed, and his smile wide as he replied. "Much better."

I stroked his hair for a few minutes and eventually, when I was sure that he had drifted off, planted a quick kiss to the top of his head, where his short bangs instantly tickled my nose.

He’d told me the next morning that he slept like a baby; I told him to return the favor by returning to my bed again that night.

Reader, he indeed returned; that night, as well as every next one.

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