Nils feels the urge to transform by Snagg

---

Tom leaned back against the window, his tattooed arms folded. His bald head caught the last light of the evening, gleaming faintly.
Nils sat at the table, absently braiding a section of his long blond hair. He knew Tom was watching him, studying him the way he always did.
"You ever think about what you'd look like without all that?" Tom asked, gesturing to Nils's hair.
Nils laughed. "Without my hair? Why do you ask that?"
Tom pushed off the window and came closer, resting his hand on Nils's shoulder. "I noticed the way you stare at my shaved head."
Nils felt his stomach tighten. "I think you look hot."
"I know. But I have the impression there's more. That you secretly want to shave your head, too."
"Shave my head? You're kidding. This hair is my thing. It's… me."

Tom sat down opposite Nils. "Are you sure the long hair is still you? Maybe you've outgrown your look."
Nils looked down, fingers tightening in his braid. "I'd look ridiculous bald. People would laugh."
Tom shook his head, voice low and certain. "They wouldn't laugh. They'd stare. You'd look sharp."
Nils tilted his head, curious but defensive. "Easy for you to say. You've been bald forever. It suits you. Me? It'd be… extreme."
"Extreme?" Tom said, leaning forward. "Your long hair is also extreme."

After a long silence, Nils surprised himself by whispering, "If I did it… if I actually did it… would you still find me attractive?"
Tom kissed Nils. "I like your long hair. But above all, I like extremes. I kind of like the idea of ​​seeing you with a clean-shaven scalp. How I run my hand over it. And then — ink."
Nils looked caught. "Ink?"
Tom smirked. "You tend to stare at my tattoos just as hungrily as you do at my head."
Nils took Tom's hand. "If I shave my head and start getting tattoos, we'll soon look like twins."
"I can imagine worse."

The next evening, Tom set a chair in the middle of the bathroom. The clippers were charged, waiting on the edge of the sink. Nils stood in the doorway, shifting his weight nervously.
"Do you want to sleep on it one more night?"
Nils shook his head. "The only way I'll get the idea that I want to be bald out of my head is to give in to my desire."
Nils sat down, taking off his T-shirt. "Do it, Tom! Shave me bald!"
Tom picked up the clippers, flicked them on. No guard. The buzz filled the room, loud, merciless.
Nils flinched. "God, that sound. I can't believe I'm letting you do this."
"It's your decision," Tom said, holding the clippers just above Nils's crown.
Nils closed his eyes. "Yeah. And it feels right."

The first pass was shocking. The clippers dug a pale strip through Nils's thick blond hair, from the forehead to the crown, rough stubble left behind. A curtain of hair slid down his chest and fell onto the floor.
Nils gasped. "OMG! That's it? There's no going back now."
Tom's hand steadied his head. "Shhh. Breathe. Look."
He turned Nils slightly toward the mirror. Nils's eyes widened. "It looks… brutal," he whispered.
Tom guided the clippers again. Pass after pass, the weight of years fell away. Nils's shoulders trembled, his jaw tight, but he enjoyed it. He watched in the mirror as his head grew barer, the contours of his skull revealed, sharp and striking.

Finally, Tom switched off the clippers. He ran his palm over Nils's scalp in slow circles, savoring the texture.
"There you are," Tom murmured. "Raw. Uncovered."
Nils reached up with tentative fingers, feeling the stubble. His reflection looked startling — eyes bigger, cheekbones sharper, face unfamiliar yet fierce.
"I… don't recognize myself," he admitted.
Tom kissed the top of his head. "The journey is not over yet."

Tom ran hot water, soaking a towel until it steamed. He wrapped it around Nils's freshly buzzed scalp, holding it close.
"What are you doing?" Nils asked.
"Softening it. Making it ready."
Tom squeezed shaving cream into his palm and lathered it thickly over Nils's head. Then came the razor. Tom drew it carefully across Nils's crown, the scrape loud in the quiet room. A strip of cream vanished, leaving behind just skin.
Nils gasped. "Wow! I'm about to become a cue ball!"
"Exactly," Tom murmured, working in slow, deliberate strokes. "A badass cue ball."
He tilted Nils's head gently, shaving along the curve of his skull, then the sides, then down to the nape of his neck. With each pass, more cream fell away, until at last there was nothing left — only a scalp, clean and startling under the bathroom light.
Tom ran his hand reverently over the smooth skin.
"Perfect," he whispered. "Like you were meant for this."
Nils stared at his reflection, breath shallow. "It's... bold. Even better than I imagined."

A couple of days later, Tom sat beside him on the couch, stroking Nils' head.
"Are you ready for the next step?" he asked softly.
Nils showed him a sketch on his mobile. "A kind of abstract elephant. The head should be on my shoulder and partly on my upper arm, and the trunk should extend down to my forearm."
"That's huge!" said Tom, surprised. "I thought you'd start with something small."
Nils shook his head. "I want tattoos I can't hide. Shaving my head wasn't actually that rough. Hair grows back. But a tattoo is forever. A real statement. And I want everyone to see it."

Two weeks later, Nils sat in a leather chair at a small tattoo studio. The walls were plastered with sketches — wolves, geometric shapes, script in bold black ink.
Nils's stomach twisted. He looked pale, his shaved head making his nervousness even more stark.
Tom sat next to him, squeezing his hand. "First one's always the hardest. After this, it gets addictive."
The artist approached — a tall man with sleeves of ink up both arms, his beard flecked with gray. His voice was calm, assured. "Ready?"
Nils nodded.
The artist placed the stencil on Nils's shoulder and arm. "Did you design this yourself?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Looks great."

The machine buzzed to life. Nils flinched at the sound — it was harsher than the clippers had been, more threatening.
When the needle touched his skin, fire lanced through him. He gritted his teeth, gripping Tom's hand so tightly his knuckles went white.
The elephant took hours. Each pass of the needle left him sweating, trembling, but Tom never let go, murmuring steady encouragement. When it was finally done, the artist wiped away the ink and blood, and Nils gasped. He looked into one of the mirrors in the room. He stared at the tattoo. His first tattoo.
"It's… awesome," he whispered.
He couldn't look away. His shaved head, his tattoo — he was no longer the man he'd been.
"It's the new you," Tom said. His hand traced the fresh lines, careful not to press too hard. "Bold. Savage. Exactly how you want to be, right?"

The weeks passed. The wounds healed. And Nils felt the urge to get more tattoos. Soon, a network of geometric lines spread across his other arm. And by summer, a fantasy creature with piercing eyes was emblazoned on his chest, and a jungle of vines had grown on one of his lower legs.
Nils also now wore a rather large nose ring.
"It gives you an animalistic look," said Tom. "It makes your appearance even more brutal."
It was evening, and they were walking through the streets of the city center, on their way to a gay bar, wearing tank tops and shorts so that their tattoos were clearly visible.
Nils noticed that people parted for them on the sidewalk. He said laughing to Tom, "We're scaring them again."
By now Nils was used to the reactions. At a café, the barista did a double take, fumbling their order. At the gym, strangers avoided the bench next to theirs. At work, new colleagues hesitated before speaking to Nils, their eyes flicking to the bold ink peeking out from beneath his clothes.
"It's like they've decided who I am before I even open my mouth."
"Speaking of prejudices, has your mother calmed down now?"
"She no longer believes that I have become a criminal. Her biggest concern now is that her neighbors might see me. That's why she wants to meet me in a part of town where she doesn't know anyone."

But not everyone looked at them with fear or judgment. Some looked at them with admiration.
Later at the bar, a young man with a shaved head and only one small tattoo approached them hesitantly. "Sorry to bother you… but you two look amazing together. Like… powerful."
Nils blinked, caught off guard. Tom smiled and clasped the man's shoulder. "It's just about being honest with yourself."
The man nodded, grateful, and left. Nils turned to Tom, stunned. "Did you see that? He looked at us like we were… role models."
Nils felt a rush of pride he'd never known before. He stroked his shaved head and looked down at his inked body. "I never thought I could be this man."

---