What have I done! by HairNoMore

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Liam had always been the quiet one in his family—soft‑spoken, diligent, the kind of young man who spent evenings reviewing anatomy flashcards while others were out living their lives. His dream of medical school was the compass guiding everything he did. He didn’t resent the discipline; it was simply who he was.

So when his sister brought home her new boyfriend, Kyle, a loud, sun‑tanned construction worker with a booming laugh and a habit of filling every room he entered—Liam assumed they’d have nothing to say to each other.

He was wrong.

Kyle treated him like an equal from the first handshake. He asked about his classes, teased him lightly, and somehow made Liam feel … seen. Within a week, Kyle had invited him to the gym.

"Come on, man. You study hard. You deserve to feel strong too." Liam surprised himself by saying yes.

The gym became their shared territory. Kyle coached him through deadlifts, corrected his form, and celebrated every small improvement with a clap on the back. Liam found himself looking forward to their sessions more than he expected.

A few weeks in, Liam arrived early and spotted Kyle across the room.

Kyle had a new tattoo—bold black ink sweeping across his upper arm—and a silver hoop glinting in his ear. Liam couldn’t help staring.

Kyle noticed and grinned. "Ah, yeah. Got bored last weekend." He said nothing more, but the image stuck in Liam’s mind long after the workout ended.

Two days later, Liam walked past a tattoo studio on his way home from college. He stopped. He stared. And before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped inside. He wasn’t chasing rebellion or trying to imitate anyone. What tugged at him was quieter, deeper: the idea of marking his own journey. Years of studying, sacrificing, doubting himself, pushing through — he wanted something that symbolised that struggle and the determination that kept him moving forward.

The studio smelled faintly of disinfectant and ink. The artist, a calm, attentive man with sleeves of intricate designs, listened carefully as Liam explained what he wanted: something small but meaningful, something that represented perseverance, growth, and the long road he was still walking toward medical school.

The artist sketched for a few minutes, then turned the pad around. Liam’s breath caught. It was perfect — a design that blended subtle symbolism with bold lines, something that felt like a story etched into skin. He nodded eagerly.

"Let’s do it."

The buzzing of the machine began, and at first Liam felt only excitement. But as the artist worked, Liam gradually became aware of how far the ink was spreading across his upper arm. The outline extended lower and lower, the shading deeper, the design wrapping around in a way he hadn’t fully anticipated.

Halfway through, he realised the truth: this tattoo was much larger than he had imagined.

A flicker of panic rose in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something — but then he looked at the unfinished lines. Stopping now would leave him with something awkward, incomplete, almost comical. The design needed its full shape to make sense. Without the rest, it would look like a mistake. So he stayed still. He let the artist continue.

By the time the machine finally quieted, Liam’s arm felt raw and warm. He stood, walked to the mirror, and stared. It was bold. It was impossible to hide in a T‑shirt. It was nothing like the small, discreet symbol he’d originally imagined.

But it was beautiful. It looked like a declaration — one he wasn’t sure he was ready to make to the world. He loved it. He regretted it. He felt exposed and proud all at once. And that complicated mix stayed with him long after he left the studio.

At their next gym session, Kyle’s eyes widened.

"Whoa, Liam! I didn't think you had it in you!" He circled him like a proud older brother. "Man, that tattoo is clean. And the earring suits you."

Liam flushed, unsure whether to smile or hide.

After the workout, Kyle stretched and said, "Mind if we swing by the barber on the way home? I need a tidy‑up."
Liam hesitated. "Actually… I need my hair sorted for my med school interview. So yeah, sure."

Kyle’s barber shop was nothing like the quiet, polite salon Liam usually visited. This place buzzed with clippers, laughter, and the smell of aftershave. The walls were covered in photos of sharp fades and military cuts. Kyle greeted everyone by name. Liam followed him like a shadow.

They sat in chairs side by side. Kyle asked for his usual cut—short, sharp, high and tight. Then, with a grin, he added:

"And my guy Liam here needs tidying up for a medical school interview."

The barber cutting Liam’s hair looked at the tattoo, the muscles, the earring and chuckled thinking he was joking. "Medical school? Year right, one tidy haircut coming up."

The barber had already snapped the cape around his neck. The clippers switched on with a loud buzz. At first, Liam assumed the barber was just cleaning up the sides. He stared at his own hands in his lap, trying to calm the flutter in his stomach. Then he felt it. A cold stripe of air across the side of his head.

He looked up. In the mirror, he saw a wide, pale strip of scalp where hair had been only seconds before. The barber was already lifting the clippers for another pass—high, far higher than Liam had ever worn his hair.
His heart lurched.

"Wait—" he tried.

But the barber laughed again. "Relax, mate. Kyle’s right. This’ll clean you up proper."

Liam’s eyes darted to Kyle, who looked startled. By the time Liam found his voice, the damage was done. The sides were shaved nearly to the skin. The top was already being clipped short. There was no going back.

When the cape came off, Liam barely recognized himself. The haircut was severe, sharp, military. His tattoo and earring suddenly looked even bolder against the stark new style. He felt exposed. He felt foolish. He felt like he’d ruined everything.

Outside, he leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

"Liam," Kyle said gently, "I’m really sorry. I can't believe that happened." Liam nodded, unable to speak. "But… mate, you look incredible. Seriously. It suits you. You look confident." Liam didn’t believe him.

A week later, he walked into the medical school interview room feeling like an imposter. He felt that despite all his consistent hard work he'd likely blown his chances with what had gone on in the last week. He had intended taking out the earring before the interview, but the high and tight haircut, and tattoo were impossible to hide, so he left it in. He felt like every inch of him screamed wrong.

But the interview went astonishingly well. His answers flowed. His passion showed. The panel smiled, nodded, encouraged him. At the end, the lead interviewer leaned back and said:

"Before you go, I want to say something. Most candidates come in looking identical—same suits, same hair, same polished presentation. They dress in a way thinking that's what we're looking for. You stand out. Not in a bad way. In a memorable way. You look like someone who knows who he is." Liam blinked, stunned.

"Your appearance doesn’t detract from your professionalism," the interviewer continued. "If anything, it highlights your confidence. It’s refreshing." Liam walked out of the building feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

That evening, he caught his reflection in a shop window. The confident posture, the haircut. The tattoo. The earring. For the first time, he didn’t see a mistake.

He saw someone growing into himself. Someone stronger. Someone braver. Someone ready.

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