Between Skin and Hair (Part 2) by KF_NDN

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### 6. Mirror
Luca stood before the mirror.
The reflection looking back at him felt both familiar and strange. The contours of his face appeared sharper; his eyes looked larger, as if someone had traced the outlines with a fine pencil. No more stray curl falling across his forehead, no hair twisting in every breeze or blocking his view. Instead, a short, even layer of soft down shimmered over his head like a pale fabric of light.

He turned slightly, studying how the reflection shifted—points of brightness dancing where light met skin and texture.
Rafael stood beside him, arms folded, wearing a grin that mixed mischief with quiet pride.
"A number between tidy and fearless," he said. "Perfect fit."

Luca laughed softly, almost shyly, and ran his hand over his head again—third time already. The sound was a faint scrape, rhythmic, almost hypnotic, like wind brushing paper.
"I can’t believe I didn’t do this earlier," he murmured. "I love how it feels—so free, so real."
Rafael grinned. "Told you. After the first time, you never look back."

He nodded toward the small bathroom window, where the evening breeze pressed gently against the frame. "Go outside later. You’ll feel it properly then."
Luca nodded. Later that night, alone, he did—opened the window and let the air move across his head. A shiver ran over his skin, a perfect blend of chill and pleasure.
He hadn’t felt this light in years.

***

### 7. Encounter on Campus
Saturday morning glazed the campus with pale sunlight.
The air was cool—not cold, but crisp, like the first sip of water after a workout. Luca walked without a hood, without a cap, and for the first time it felt effortless. Each step sent a faint vibration through his temples, where bare skin now met the breeze—a new part of himself greeting the world.

Outside the gym, Aaron sat on the steps. Luca recognized him from the cafeteria. Hard to miss—tall, athletic, arms sun‑tinted, and a scalp smooth as porcelain, catching the light in a fine, clean shimmer.

He wore a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up and joggers still dark at the hem from training.
When he spotted Luca, he grinned instantly.
"Well, look who joined the bald‑boys club!" he called, jokingly grand.
Luca laughed. "Guess I’m the newest recruit."
"Looks good on you, really. You’ve got the shape for it."

He patted the step beside him, and Luca sat down. The stone felt cool, the sun adding just enough warmth to balance it.
"Rafael did good work," Aaron said with a brief nod.
"He knows what he’s doing," Luca replied—and realized he said it almost proudly.

Aaron let his gaze wander across the courtyard. "I swear, for me it was enlightenment. First time I shaved, never went back. It’s like feeling the entire world at once. No filter."
"I felt it in the shower," said Luca. "The water running over it—it’s wild. So direct. Hard to describe."
Aaron grinned. "Addictive, huh?"

They fell quiet for a moment, the sunlight shifting angles. Then Aaron said, lightly, teasingly, "Can I?"
"What?"
"Feel it. You’re still in the stubble phase, right?"

Luca hesitated for a single breath, then nodded. Aaron raised his hand and stroked gently against the grain at the back of Luca’s head. The sound was barely audible—only friction and warmth.
"Yeah," murmured Aaron. "Fine sandpaper. You’re in the in‑between stage."
Luca laughed, then slowly reached forward, brushing his hand across Aaron’s scalp in return—smooth, flawless, warm.
"Wow," he said softly. "Feels like glass."
Aaron grinned. "Told you. Glass that’s alive."

A gust swept across the courtyard, and both closed their eyes for a moment.
"See?" Aaron said quietly. "That’s when you realize you don’t need anything else."

***

### 8. Evening at the Pool
The night air smelled faintly of chlorine and metal as Luca passed the gym.
At this hour it was almost empty, only the rhythmic slap of water echoing down the hall. Through the glass wall, he saw Aaron swimming alone—steady, graceful strokes gliding through turquoise light.

Luca stopped, leaning against the railing. Something mesmerizing in the way Aaron’s body moved through the glow—each motion deliberate, the water reflecting the white ceiling lights in restless shimmer.

Aaron looked up as he reached the edge, water streaming from his shoulders, wiping his face with one hand.
"Hey!" he called, smiling through the rising haze. "Thought you were going out tonight!"
"Nah," Luca answered. "Just walking. Then I saw you."
"Then join me. The water’s perfect."

Luca hesitated, but Aaron’s tone carried a friendly inevitability. He pulled off his shoes and shirt, setting them beside the bench. The floor tiles were damp, slightly slick.
Aaron steadied himself at the edge, half‑submerged, his smooth scalp gleaming like polished silver. "Come on, no excuses," he said.

Luca slipped in. The water was warm—wrapping around him like skin. For the first time since shaving, he felt it flow directly over his scalp—no resistance, no strands, only the glide of water and heat.

When he surfaced, Aaron laughed. "Well?"
"You were right. It’s… insane. Even better than wind."
"Knew it."

They leaned against the edge together, shoulders almost touching.
"You know," Aaron said, "the best part is this: when you see yourself like that—without anything—you don’t have to play a role anymore."
Luca nodded. "Just yourself. And that feels damn good."
Aaron grinned. "Welcome to the real bald‑boys club."

They stayed like that for a while—half in water, half in light—talking about nothing in particular, yet everything felt meaningful. The pool’s glow rippled across their shoulders, and in those reflections, Luca felt like he was finally seeing himself clearly.

***

### 9. After the Pool
The hallway was silent as they walked back.
The air carried the scent of wet fabric and cleaning fluid, but within it lingered something lighter—chlorine, warmth, exhaustion, a trace of adrenaline. Their steps echoed softly on the tiles.

"Weird, huh?" Aaron said quietly. "How still everything is after swimming. Even your thoughts."
Luca nodded. "Like being washed clean. Completely."
"Yeah. Like everything drains away."

They reached the south wing. An open window let in the cool night air. They stopped; Aaron turned slightly toward him, the dim emergency light catching his scalp with a metallic gleam.
"Let me see," he said, voice low, almost gentle.

He stepped closer and placed his hand on Luca’s head. His fingertips traced a fine line across the skull, against the grain. The moisture from his own skin left a faint, chilled trail.
"Still prickly," he murmured. "Almost electric. Looks good."
Luca smiled shyly. "Yours feels like rain," he said softly.

A second of silence. Then Aaron whispered, "Funny how something so small can feel so big."
"It’s not small," Luca replied. "That’s me. No filter."
Aaron grinned faintly. "Then you’ve arrived."

At that moment, Rafael’s door opened down the hall, spilling light into the corridor. Luca and Aaron stepped apart—but only just long enough to leave a quiet understanding hanging between them, one that needed no words.

***

### 10. The Mirror in the Light
Next morning, the room was silent—only the hum of the heater and birds outside the open window. Early sunlight scattered across the sheets, landing on Luca’s head in countless tiny sparks.

Rafael stood at the sink, toothbrush in mouth, watching him for a moment before saying,
"You do realize that look suits you absurdly well, right?"
Luca looked up from his book, surprised. "You really think so?"
"I don’t think—I know." Rafael set the brush down and came closer. "You’ve got the skin and the shape for it. No shadows, no dents. Most guys look like convicts, but you— you look complete."

Luca blushed lightly, laughing. "Funny. Aaron said almost the same thing yesterday."
"Aaron?"
"Yeah. The swimmer. We were at the pool."
"Ah, the bald guy from the sports wing."

Rafael grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Seems I’ve got competition."

Later, they browsed through a fashion site together, scrolling past endless shirts and neutral faces, until Rafael paused on one image.
"Wait—see him? Tobias Sorensen. Used to be in every second campaign—long hair, surfer type. Now look."

Luca leaned closer. The photo showed Sorensen with a perfectly shaved head, strong cheekbones, and smooth, lightly reflective skin. The same morning light that filled their room seemed to glow in the picture.
"Wow," Luca whispered. "He looks like the same person, only clearer. Nothing extra."
"Exactly," said Rafael. "It suits him better. Almost iconic."

He stopped, studying Luca’s profile in that same light—the same balance of shadow and shine, the same calm geometry.
"You know what?" Rafael said suddenly. "We should do it. For real. No half‑measures. Smooth. You’re built for it—I can see it."

Luca turned to him, surprised. "You mean… completely? Shave it all?"
Rafael nodded. "Like Sorensen. You’ve got the face, the skin, the confidence—finish what you started."

Luca thought for a moment, then closed the laptop. The light had turned sharper through the window. "Do it."
Rafael grinned, stood up. "Alright. No half‑measures."

He took out shaving gel, a clean towel, a razor. The clipper buzzed once more—this time with no guard.
The sound was lower, more direct. Metal met skin. Each stroke left a visible path—clean, pale lines catching the light.

When the last trace of fuzz disappeared, Rafael spread cool eucalyptus‑scented foam and drew the blade carefully across the scalp, leaving smooth, flawless trails. The scents of metal and menthol mixed in the still air.

He rinsed away the foam, patted the skin dry, and stepped back.
The surface gleamed—smooth. Perfect. No unevenness, no shadow.

Rafael said nothing. Just a quiet, "Damn."
He pressed his hand lightly against it, as if to confirm it was real.
"This is too good," he whispered. "Your head shape’s unreal. How did you never do this before?"

Luca met his gaze in the mirror. Their reflections aligned—one stubble, one smooth—joined by the same light.
"So," Luca murmured with a grin, "bald‑boys, final level?"
Rafael laughed softly, nodded. "No. You’re the new standard."

He traced his fingertips once more over the skin—testing, slow, almost tender. Then he let his hand fall.
Luca looked into the mirror—at the light breaking over his scalp—and realized transformation wasn’t something you *did*; it was something you *became*.


***

How would you continue their story?

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