The neighbor’s barbershop by Mr. Nice Guy

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"April! Can you take your brother next door for his haircut, please?"
April blinked. "What?"
"Dominic’s appointment with the neighbor. She said her son’s doing it now. Her name’s Tess, and apparently he’s taken over the shop. Said he’s very good."

Dominic dragged his feet the entire walk across the lawn. April didn’t blame him. He was awkward at the best of times — mop of shaggy brown hair falling in greasy sheets over his eyes, hoodie two sizes too big. Starting a strict boys’ school next week was going to eat him alive.

"You must be April and Dom," he said, eyes flicking from Dominic to her. "Come in. I’ve got the shop set up downstairs."
His voice was smooth — not too deep, but confident. April felt her breath catch slightly. She followed him into the cool house, down the creaky staircase into what used to be the basement.
It wasn’t a basement anymore.
It was a sleek, masculine barbershop. Black leather chairs. Industrial lighting. Minimalist steel-framed mirrors. One wall was covered in black-and-white photos — men in uniform, soldiers lined up for inspection, crew cuts and sharp fades. The scent of aftershave and talc hung in the air, clean and nostalgic.
Chris motioned Dominic toward the chair. "Let’s clean you up, man. School cut, right?"
Dominic barely nodded before slumping into the seat.

Chris moved — precise, economical, effortless. He secured the maroon cape around Dominic’s neck and tore a strip of white tissue to tuck beneath the collar. Chris snapped on the clippers, and the low hum filled the room. April his hand pressed gently against the back of Dominic’s head, the controlled passes up the nape, hair falling in soft clumps.
Dominic winced a little.
"You’ll thank me later," Chris murmured as he buzzed the sides down tight. He brushed stray hairs off Dominic’s neck with a practiced flick. Then the top came off — long, greasy bangs falling like petals.
When he was done, Dominic looked like a different kid. Still surly. But presentable.
Chris spun the chair toward the mirror. "There. Military clean."
Dominic barely mumbled a thank you before pulling off the cape and darting upstairs.
——

Three weeks later, while cleaning up after breakfast, April’s mom leaned casually against the doorway.
"Hey honey, Dom’s hair’s getting a bit wild again. I was thinking—it’d be good for him to get a fresh cut. Why don’t you take him over to Chris?"
April raised an eyebrow. "Same as last time?"
"No," her mom smirked. "Actually… tell Chris to give him a full headshave. Razor and all. Would look amazing on him."
April blinked, caught off guard. "You sure?"
"Mmhmm," her mom said, sipping coffee. "He’s got the face for it. Trust me."
Dominic, sitting on the couch with a controller in hand, overheard and looked up in horror. "Wait, what?! Headshave? No way!"
April crossed her arms and gave him the big sister glare. "Mum said so. And you need to listen."
"But—!"
"No buts. Come on." She grabbed his wrist and pulled him up.
Within minutes, the two were walking back toward Chris’s barbershop.
Chris greeted them at the door, his eyes lighting up when he saw April. "Back already?"
"Yep," she smiled, biting her lip. "Dom’s here for a cut. But not just any cut."
Chris raised a brow.
April leaned in, her voice sultry and low. "Mum wants him shaved. All of it."
Chris grinned. "No problem."
Dominic sat on the chair, already sulking.

Chris clicked on the clippers—no guard and placed a firm hand on Dominic’s crown and tilted his head forward. "You ready, little man?"
Dominic groaned. "Just get it over with."

April swallowed hard as the first swipe was made down the center of her brother’s head. Dark hair tumbled onto the cape like feathers. Chris worked methodically, the bare blade gliding smoothly, shearing it all away.

April’s breathing deepened. Something about seeing someone else’s hair reduced to stubble, the sound of the clippers echoing, the confidence in Chris’s stance—it was primal.
Chris caught her gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly as he buzzed the last patch.
"Time for the shave," he said.
He rubbed warm lather over Dominic’s scalp. The sight of the white foam, the gentle massage, and the glint of the straight razor as Chris began to scrape clean rows. The slow, deliberate rasp of blade over scalp sounded like music. Each pass left gleaming skin behind. Chris wiped the blade on a towel, then continued—careful, precise.

"All done," Chris said.
Dominic stood, stunned by his reflection. "Holy crap… I look like an egg."
April chuckled. "You look fresh. Come on, go home I’ll see you later."
Dom grabbed his cap and stepped outside, muttering something about never forgiving Mum.

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