Golden by Faded Dusk

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Hefting the second duffel bag into my other hand, I swiped my school ID against the keypad and typed in the code, 1-9-9-2 ("The year some musical called Falsettos hit Broadway," my RA, Dustin, had laughed, his long sandy brown mullet bouncing with his head, "the guy who made all the codes is a huge fan or something. Mine’s the year for Oklahoma! of all things!") and pushed open the door. My new roommate was already inside and apparently mostly unpacked, kneeling next to his bed and tucking in the sheets. "Oswald, right?" I asked, setting my bags down to the side of the room he’d left open for me.

He jumped and quickly stood up. As he turned around, I was greeted by one of the most handsome faces I’d ever seen, highlighted even more when the sunbeams through the window caught his golden blonde hair, which cascaded all the way down to almost his shoulders, and lit it up like a halo. "Oh, hi, I didn’t hear…are you Mateo?"

"That I am," I said as I stepped over and set my backpack down on the open bed, "nice to meet you Oswald." I extended a hand to shake but was caught off guard by him speeding past it to hug me with both arms. Despite the heat he smelled…lovely, like honey, and he was definitely stronger than he looked. Without really thinking about it I started to hug back, but he pulled away before I could finish wrapping my arms around him.

Oswald cleared his throat and tucked his hair back behind both ears, a gesture that looked so fluid he had to have done it several thousand times before. "Sorry, I really should have asked you if you were okay with hugs before just…going in, but I’m a hugger, and I wanted to start off on the right foot, and I took the more worn down bed since I didn’t want to put that on you, and you can just call me Ozzy or Oz, only my parents use my full name really, and…"

"Ozzy," I cut him off, "breathe. And you’re totally fine. I like hugs," I cracked a smile. The words "especially yours" died at the tip of my tongue. I figured that was a bit weird to say when we’d just met for the first time.

Ozzy took a breath and managed a smile, blushing, "Sorry, I can work myself up sometimes. I wanted to make the best first impression I could and I was worried I’d already screwed it up." His eyes drifted to the duffels I’d set down, "Is that all you brought?"

I followed his gaze, "Oh, no, that’s just the first load I could carry, I’ve got more boxes down in my car. There weren’t any carts available when I got here, so I figured I’d take what I could and hope that one opens up. And worst comes to worst, it’s not that much stuff."

"Especially not with two people carrying it," Ozzy grinned.

"I couldn’t ask you to do that," I shook my head, "after all, I didn’t help you with yours, and you still have your own clothes and stuff to unpack," I gestured to the still closed boxes sitting next to his bed.

"Mateo, we’re roommates. I’m not keeping score on me helping you a certain number of times so you have to help me the same number of times. It’s just a team effort, right?" He stuck out his fist for a fist bump, and I seized the moment to this time bypass his hand and pull him into a hug. To my delight he didn’t even flinch before returning the embrace, and we got to hold this one a bit longer before breaking apart.

"I think we’ll make a good team," I smiled.

"That makes two of us," his grin widened further, "now c’mon, we need to get all your stuff up here so we can actually talk without heavy breathing in between each phrase!" He grabbed my wrist lightly and tugged me out the door with a playful laugh as I tried desperately not to blush too hard or smile too sheepishly.
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The first two weeks of class flew by in a blur. Ozzy and I only had one class together, our first year writing course, but outside of class time we were practically joined at the hip. Working out together every couple days, walking to and eating breakfast together, meeting up for lunch and dinner every day, studying together in the library, attending floor meetings, and more. No outside observer would guess that we’d only recently met. I was making plenty of other friends along the way, but Ozzy and I just…clicked. I found out he was an exceptionally talented drummer (at least in my opinion, he didn’t think he was all that good), and successfully secured front row tickets to his first performance with a jazz band the school had put together. Seeing as he was sharing one of his big hobbies with me, I began teaching him the basics of soccer in the park only a couple minutes walk from our dorm. I originally suggested it under the pretense of needing to practice for intramural soccer tryouts coming up soon, but truthfully I would’ve gotten a lot more actual training if I’d scheduled something with a couple of the other freshmen planning to try out themselves. I decided I’d rather have fun with Ozzy than spend several hours each week running drills though, and Ozzy didn’t mind at all.

In all the chaos I’d neglected my biweekly haircut for several extra days, but I finally found some time on Friday evening, while poor Ozzy had an evening class. I got out a disposable plastic sheet for the floor, stripped off my shirt, recleaned the clippers just in case, and got to work ridding myself of the nearly three weeks of growth I’d accumulated. After three years of cutting my own hair, I’d gotten so used to the familiar feeling of the high and tight I always gave myself that letting it grow for much longer than this started to feel strange and disquieting. Clippering the sides and back to a one and the top to a two felt so much like second nature now that I barely needed the hand mirror for the majority of the process these days.

Ozzy walked into the room with a sigh just as I was finishing up cleaning the stray neck hairs, fortuitously considering there was a small patch I just couldn’t get a good angle on. "Ozzy, could you help me out with this for a sec? Sorry, I know you just got back from your weekly hell."

It took him a second to register what his eyes were seeing before he stepped closer, "Uh…yeah, I think I can do that…what do you need me to do exactly?"

I handed him the clippers and turned back around, "there’s a small patch of neck hairs right about…there," I strained to point, "and I can’t quite reach it. Or at least I don’t want to risk hurting myself if you can take care of it." I looked in the mirror and saw him standing back, nervously, so I smiled as reassuringly as I could, "Trust me, it’s almost impossible to mess it up at this point. And even if you do, it’s a sixteenth of an inch difference between no guard and how short it already is back there. Worst comes to worst, I have a shorter high and tight than usual, it’s not a big deal."

"Well…if you’re sure," Ozzy stepped forward, switching the clippers on and starting a little at their vibration in his hand. He used his left hand to push my neck down a little farther, then slowly and carefully attacked the neck hairs, clearly still apprehensive about slipping even after my attempt at a pep talk. I could barely think about that though because the combined feeling of the clippers vibrating against my skin and the warm touch of his fingers digging ever so slightly into the bristles at the back of my head was electrifying. It must’ve only been ten or fifteen seconds, but that alone felt like a full minute of bliss. "Did I do it right?" he asked, grabbing the hand mirror of my desk and holding it up for me.

"Perfect," I grinned, "you’re a natural." He blushed profusely and handed me back the clippers and hand mirror, before stepping away and falling onto his bed with another sigh of exhaustion. The metal frame creaked and shifted, leaving him on a slight incline towards the wall.

Ozzy groaned, "I forgot, I’m not supposed to use my bed like a bed until they can send someone to fix it."

"And how long did they say you’re going to have to wait for that?"

"About two weeks. Apparently it’s a ‘moderate concern level request,’ as though two weeks of bad sleep will just be a totally minor inconvenience," Ozzy grumbled, resting his hands behind his head and staring off into space.

"I take it class didn’t go particularly well," I quipped, trying to raise his spirits.

"It went about as well as you can expect for a Friday evening with a bunch of exhausted freshmen." Ozzy smiled, "but whatever psychopath decided that scheduling decision was a good idea needs to be fired, immediately."

"Well perhaps you can put in a maintenance request for that too," I joked, "though with their system it’d probably get labeled an ‘extra low priority, resolve in 6-12 months’ situation."

Ozzy laughed and shook his head, "Yup, that sounds about right. If they don’t think sleep is important, I definitely can’t convince them that freeing up Friday evenings is a good idea…"

"I’m gonna go wash off all the little hairs," I gestured over my shoulder, "but I promise I’ll clean all this up as soon as I get back."

"No rush, it’s not like it’s bothering me," he smiled.

When I got back I was surprised to find Ozzy holding the clippers and turning them over in his hands while still lying on the bed, his hair spread out around him on the pillow like a lion’s mane. "Can I ask a weird question, Mateo?" he looked over at me as soon as I came in, like he’d been sitting there waiting for a while.

"Kinda depends on the question, so…shoot," I shrugged, walking over to sit on my bed.

"Why do you cut your hair so short?"

I blinked, "I…wasn’t expecting that one. But that’s not really that weird of a question." I leaned back before continuing, "Back in middle school and early high school I used to go a whole six months or so without a haircut, so I’d end up with a whole mop of black curls. Whenever it got to that point, I’d go to a nearby barber, it didn’t really matter which one, and get most of it chopped off. Then the cycle repeated. I eventually realized that if I was just going to get a short clipper cut anyway, it’d be more efficient to just learn to cut it myself. So I bought the clippers and the gear and I got to work learning as best I could at the age of 16. I started with buzzcuts and then after a little accident with the sideburns I realized I liked the look of shorter sides with a slightly longer top, and from then on started doing this hairstyle. And I…haven’t really changed it since. It’s practical, I think it suits me…or at least I hope it does, and it’s very easy for me to cut at this point. That’s about it," I shrugged again. "Why do you ask?"

"Mostly just curious," he said, looking at the clippers again, "and for the record, it does suit you. A lot. You’re a handsome man, Mateo." This time it was my turn to blush profusely.

"Well so are you," the response popped out of my mouth before I could stop it.

Ozzy grinned, "I…if you say so," he managed, the blush returning in force before he finished whatever he had been about to say. He returned to turning the clippers over in his hand for a moment before he asked, "Do you think it’d suit me?"

"Think what would suit you?"

"The high and tight. Or just super short hair in general," he said.

"Well I definitely wasn’t expecting THAT question," I leaned forward in surprise, "I mean, yeah, I frankly think super short hair suits everyone, but for you specifically, you’ve got a great face for it, your eyes would pop, I think it’d look great. But I’m also biased," I chuckled a little. "Why? Are you really thinking about that much of a big chop?" I asked, a hint of concern creeping into my voice, even as I felt an indescribable feeling stir in me.

"To be honest, the long hair was never really my idea," Ozzy answered, setting the clippers down on his nightstand, "I had this friend, well, still have, though I haven’t talked to him in a minute, who I’ve known since elementary school. His name’s Gil, and if you think my hair’s long, you haven’t seen hair like his. He started growing it out young, and by the time we were in senior year it was almost waist length."

"Wow," was all I could manage.

"We even started a rock band with a couple other classmates and played some music for the school sometimes. I used to have hair about this long, that I’d wear up or to one side," he lifted up a piece of his hair and held his fingers about five or six inches from the root, "but the other guys all had hair down to their necks or even shoulders, and of course Gil had his super long ponytail, or a braid, for show nights, so they encouraged…practically pleaded for me to try growing out my hair. I finally caved the spring of junior year, and ever since then I’ve had a couple trims, but nothing else. 18 whole months of growth," he dropped the piece he was holding back down onto the pillow.

"So the golden mane wasn’t a choice, or at least it was a very peer pressure influenced choice," I added, not sure where this story was leading.

"Pretty much, but over senior year it felt nice to visually match with the rest of the band, and I got compliment after compliment about it, my parents told me I should never go see a barber again, and so on and so forth." He stood up and paced a little in front of me. "But there’s a bit more to the story…Gil’s mom is a Marine, believe it or not, and his dad served in the Navy and now apparently works for the FBI or something. It’s not important, the point is, they both wanted him to follow in their footsteps before going to college, which is how he ended up enlisting in the Air Force right after high school. I haven’t heard from him since he left, but I’m guessing the waist-length braid is history by now."

"He hasn’t called or texted or anything?" I tilted my head.

"If he has it must’ve been from a number I didn’t recognize and he didn’t leave a voicemail," Ozzy shrugged. "But it just left me thinking that maybe I’m a little tired of the long hair, and if he had to shave all his off…"

"You feel like you should shave yours too?"

"No, not exactly, but…you do seem pretty capable with those things, so the thought occurred to me while you were in the bathroom that you could maybe give me a haircut?"

"I’m happy to try if you want me to," I swung my legs back and forth in thought, "but I’m really only good at one style: very short. So…a haircut would quickly turn into a big shearing regardless. And I don’t want to do that to you if you’re on the fence."

Ozzy bit his lip, "I won’t lie and say I’m not on the fence, but the more we talk about it, the more I want to do it. And I’d much rather have you cut my hair here than go to some random barbershop and have a stranger chop it off. Plus, if I end up hating it, you can just tell everyone I’m deathly ill and can’t leave the dorm room for several weeks," he forced out a laugh.

"Ozzy," I grabbed his hand and forced him to stop pacing in front of me, "you sound the exact opposite of sure, and if you change your mind, it’s going to take you till we’re sophomores or longer to get back to this length." I stood up and tucked his hair behind his ears myself, "And your hair is beyond gorgeous, by the way, so if this is about some asshole calling you a sissy or…"

"It’s not," Ozzy wrapped his fingers around my wrists gently and pulled them down, "I…want to do this. I want…" his voice trailed off into a mumble, "I want a short, sexy haircut like yours."

I choked back a gasp. Ozzy calling my haircut ‘sexy’ may as well have injected adrenaline directly into my bloodstream with how rapidly my heart was pulsing. I swallowed, hard, "I…then let’s do it. Grab a chair to sit in and I’ll get the stuff ready." He nodded gravely, and pulled me into a hug in silence. His fingers lingered on the stubble on the back of my head, caressing it ever so slightly, before he slipped away and quickly grabbed his desk chair, setting it in the middle of the plastic sheet facing away from the mirror. I reached into my toolkit and pulled out a simple, black, nylon cape that I’d never used…until today. Ozzy held his mane out of the way while I snapped the cape into place, before he let it flow again, cascading onto his shoulders. The contrast of the golden blonde against the black made Ozzy’s locks look even more radiant than usual…and here I was, about to be their executioner.

I glanced around the room, tearing my eyes away from Ozzy for the moment. "Oz, could I borrow your brush? I think it’ll work better for your…" I turned back to him just in time for him to hold it up from under the cape.

"I may have predicted that," he mumbled sheepishly, pushing it into my hand, "so I grabbed it before I sat down…"

"Smart," I smiled softly as I started to gently brush his mane. I had expected a tangle or knot or two but it was remarkably well-kept and the brush glided through swiftly and smoothly. I still took my time savoring the precious minutes we had left with Ozzy’s shining locks before we would both be sporting stubble. "You know, after this I could teach you how to cut it yourself. Once it’s short it’s not too hard to handle, unless you’re going for a complicated fade or something," I pondered as I brushed.

Ozzy grinned up at me, despite the nervous feeling lurking in his eyes, "Thank you, but I think I’d rather stick to my roommate, the professional doing my hair. Plus it’s all the more reason to room together again next year."

"Thinking that far ahead, are we?" I grinned back, "we’re only a few weeks in, who knows if we’ll get tired of each other? Or even that you’ll end up regretting today and ask to move rooms before we even get to housing registration?"

"I have perfect faith that neither of those things are going to happen," Ozzy stuck his arm out from under the cape to hold my free hand, "you’re stuck with me, Teo." He blushed again and retracted his arm, "Sorry, I should’ve asked if you were okay with nicknames before just jumping to one."

"All good," I rested a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, "I don’t usually love them, but you can have special privileges," I winked at him as I finished brushing. His face reddened even further. I stepped over to the nightstand and retrieved the clippers, "Time for the big moment."

Just as I grabbed my comb, Ozzy gulped, "I know I’m not the expert, but shouldn’t you put a guard on those unless you want me to end up bald?"

I gripped both of his shoulders this time, gently rubbing them to ease some of the tension. "I’m not actually shaving anything yet, first I just need to get rid of some of the length so the clippers have an easier time getting to your scalp." I turned on the clippers again, "But now’s also the last chance to change your mind, so…"

He shook his head, his hair swaying around with the motion, "No, we’re doing this. I’m doing this. Go for it." I obliged him, picking up a section of his hair with the comb and running the clippers across it, sending 6 inches of golden strands down to the cape in a heartbeat. Ozzy stared down at them, his expression difficult to decipher, so I decided to just keep going. It became a rhythm, lifting a section, swiping the clippers across the comb, and watching the hair fall before moving onto the next. Golden strands littered the whole cape, shoulders, chest, and especially the large cauldron gathering in Ozzy’s lap. And then there was the big pile I was now stepping through, shorn from the back and amassing on the floor.

But even with all that, Ozzy still had what many would call "long hair" perfectly straight and shimmering as golden as ever, covering his ears. I stepped to his side to grab the comb and section the top of his hair away from the sides for now with clips. "Do you want all one length, or were you thinking of something like mine, a bit shorter on the sides and back than the top?" I brushed my finger along his sideburn as I asked, relishing the texture.

Ozzy thought for a second, "one-length, to start out with, one length, a one guard, nice and simple and straightforward and we can go from there?"

"Sounds good to me," I grinned, snapping the requested guard on the clippers, "as you wish, Prince Ozzy."

"Prince? Where’d that come from, he laughed a little.

"Well with all these golden locks you definitely look like you hopped right out of a fairytale, but that obviously won’t be the case much longer so I figured I’d tease you about it while I could," I explained, running my fingers absentmindedly through his hair.

"I kinda like the sound of it," he admitted quietly, then shook his head. "Not enough to tell you to stop cutting though, so fire those babies up."

"Yes sir," I did a tiny salute and pushed his head to the side, bringing the roaring clippers up to the sideburn I’d just been stroking and stripping it away in mere seconds, carrying on their path of destruction all the way to the part line I’d created and sending a fresh clump of silky hair to his shoulder, then lap.

"Wow…" he managed to choke out, "this…feels surreal." He lifted one hand to his temple to feel the shorn spot I’d just left behind. "A good kind of surreal though." As he said that I drove the clippers into the hair again, this time peeling an arch forward from behind his ear to the stripe I’d just made, clearing out the additional growth around the ear while I was there.

"How about we leave it like this?" I joked, fighting back my snickering, "I hear the shaved side and bob is really in these days."

"Oh would you hush and get back to work," Ozzy playfully swatted me with his hand, "I'd like you to finish this haircut before we graduate, at least."

"Fine, fine," I pretended to roll my eyes, "if you insist your Majesty the great and powerful."

"Oh I do," Ozzy grinned.

Obliging, I walked around him, shoved his head to the other side, and repeated the shearing process on his left ear, all that growth just gone in no time. I didn’t even stop to talk this time before I pushed his head down to his chest, letting his clipped up hair swing into his eyes, and plunged the clippers into his nape. He started a bit at the impact, but a quick hand on the back of his head settled, or in part, forced him to stay still as the clippers made their climb and dropped one of the largest chunks yet. The slightest of gasps escaped his lips as it landed, and the pile shifted. Just as a little experiment, when I brought the clippers back down for another pass, I pressed my palm into Ozzy’s head, keeping him completely still and helpless, even as I could feel a quiver beneath me. When the strands made landfall on his lap, a full-on shudder echoed through his body, but I knew from the tingling under my grip that it was anything but fear or apprehension. He and I were both enjoying this. I kept his head pressed firmly downward as the clippers did their brutal work, the clumps turning into a cascade of gold until the back of his head was nothing but stubble.

"Alright then," I teased, unclipping the top and letting it completely block his vision, "one last chance to get one of those disconnected undercuts I’ve heard about, otherwise…" I placed the clippers right at his hairline, the sound like the buzz of anticipation in the pit of my stomach.

"I think you already know the answer, buddy," Ozzy responded, even if I couldn’t see his face behind the curtain. I’d fix that soon enough. Five swift, efficient motions were enough to transfer almost all of his remaining hair, from the shimmering curtain to the dangling strands over his ears, to the floor, lifeless at my feet. All that remained was making sure I didn’t miss a single hair and lining up the edges a little. Ozzy was practically vibrating with anticipation, "Can I see it yet? My head feels like it's half as heavy as it used to be…maybe less even."

"One more touch," I assured, whisking off any hairs that might have stuck to his neck or head, "and here we go." I pulled the cape off with a slightly dramatic flair, letting the hair cauldron that had gathered there join its family stomped into the plastic. Ozzy stood, rubbing his head over and over, and got his first look of his head without the more than foot long hair that had been extending from it until just a few minutes ago.

"Wow man this feels…AMAZING!" he said excitedly, "I should’ve let you do this earlier!" He couldn’t stop feeling every inch of the new cut. "I just don’t know how I can thank you!"

"I know a way," I smiled, stepping forward and letting my hand slide onto his neck and up to his nape, fingering the prickly stubble before gripping it and pulling him to my level for a kiss. Ozzy melted into it immediately. Despite being taller and broader than me, he was like putty in my hands as my free arm snaked around him and pulled him in closer.
When we both stopped, panting for breath, he managed to whisper in my ear, "I’ve been wanting to do that since the day we met…I just didn’t think you’d feel the same."

"How could I not fall for my exceptionally hot roommate?" I whispered back, still breathing heavily, "especially when he offers me the transformation opportunity of a lifetime and enjoys every minute of it as much as I did?"

Ozzy cupped my chin. I was right, his blue-green eyes sparkled even more brightly without the curtain of hair surrounding them. "So…you noticed that, huh? Me getting all excited at my sexy barber having his way with me?"

"Oh yes, and a lot more of that can be arranged," I smirked, "but for right now I think we need to clean up…and then get better acquainted with this." This time I ran both hands over Ozzy’s scalp, and he almost moaned in ecstasy. "I’m going to need several hours, honestly. Looks like we’ll just have to share my bed since yours isn’t getting fixed anytime soon."

"Maybe I should just cancel the order," Ozzy murmured in my ear, tracing his finger along the line where I’d switched guard lengths on my head, "because I don’t think I ever want to go back."

Another long, passionate kiss. "As if I’d ever let you," I murmured back, unless you mean giving me another golden mane to relieve you of."

"I'll think about it," he promised, smiling widely, "but all I want right now is to enjoy this...and you."

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