Skin deep loyalty by BuzzItAllOff

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The estate always smelled faintly of wet concrete and cheap deodorant, especially at dusk when the air cooled and everyone drifted back to their usual corners. That evening, the sky hung low and grey, like it was waiting for something to happen.
Liam stood by the railings in his black Under Armour tracksuit, fingers hooked into the pockets, jaw tight. His trainers tapped a restless rhythm against the pavement. Usually, this was his place—laughing, loud, untouchable. But tonight, the circle around him felt different. Closed.
"Say it again," said Daz, arms folded. "You didn’t tell him?"
"I didn’t," Liam shot back, quicker than he meant to. "Why would I? That’s not me."
A couple of the others muttered. Someone scoffed. The misunderstanding had spread fast—someone had tipped off another group about where they’d be last weekend, and things had nearly kicked off badly. Liam had been seen talking to one of them earlier that day. That was all it took.
"You were chatting to him," Jay said, stepping forward. "Don’t act like we didn’t see."
"Yeah, chatting," Liam snapped. "Not snitching. There’s a difference."
Silence stretched. The kind that presses on your chest.
Daz finally spoke again, slower this time. "You know how this works. If there’s doubt, you clear it. Properly."
Liam already knew what was coming before Daz even nodded toward the buzzing clippers sitting on the low wall. Someone had brought them. Someone had planned this.
"No way," Liam said under his breath, more to himself than to them.
"Your fade," one of them said, almost casually. "It’s your thing, yeah? Always talking about it. Always keeping it sharp."
It was true. Liam’s burst fade mullet was more than a haircut—it was identity. Clean taper hugging the ears, the fade melting perfectly into the longer back. He spent time on it, money on it. It made him feel like himself.
"Shave it," Daz said plainly. "Right down. No guard. Prove you’re still one of us."
"And if I don’t?" Liam asked, though he already knew.
Daz shrugged. "Then you’re not."
The words landed heavier than any shove could have.
For a moment, Liam pictured walking away—just turning, hands still in his pockets, leaving the whole thing behind. But then what? New faces, new explanations, starting from zero. Everything familiar, gone in one step.
His gaze drifted to the clippers. Then to the faces around him. Waiting. Watching.
"Fine," he said, quieter now.
Someone handed him the clippers. They were already humming, vibrating slightly in his grip. The sound filled the silence, louder than it should’ve been.
He hesitated only a second before pressing them to his temple.
The first pass was the hardest.
A thick strip of dark hair fell away instantly, exposing pale scalp beneath. The clean gradient he’d kept so carefully was gone in one stroke. A couple of the lads leaned in, watching closely.
"Keep going," Jay said.
Liam dragged the clippers back again, slower this time. More hair slid down, brushing his shoulders before dropping to the ground. With each pass, the version of himself he recognized disappeared—no more sharp lines, no more shape, just raw, uneven patches turning into bare skin.
The cool air hit his scalp as more of it was exposed. He worked methodically now, front to back, sides, then over the crown. The buzzing never stopped. It became almost hypnotic.
When he reached the back—where the mullet had been longest—he paused for a fraction of a second. That was the part he’d liked most. The bit that made it stand out.
"Do it," Daz said.
Liam exhaled and pushed the clippers through it. The longer strands dropped in heavier clumps, landing among the shorter pieces already scattered at his feet.
Within minutes, it was done.
He switched the clippers off. The sudden silence rang in his ears.
Someone handed him a small mirror. He looked.
His scalp was pale, slightly uneven in tone, with faint redness where the blades had passed. No style, no fade, no identity tied to it. Just him.
Different.
"Happy?" he asked, voice flat.
Daz studied him for a second, then gave a short nod. "Yeah. That’s sorted."
The tension eased almost instantly. A few claps on the shoulder, a couple of "there you go" comments. The circle opened back up like nothing had happened.
But for Liam, something had shifted.
He ran a hand over his head. It felt strange—smooth in places, rough in others. Lighter, sure. But also exposed.
"Looks alright, you know," someone said, trying to lighten it.
Liam gave a small shrug. "Yeah. Guess it’ll grow back."
And it would. He knew that. Hair always did.
Still, as he stood there, feeling the night air directly against his scalp, he couldn’t shake the thought that what he’d lost wasn’t just the haircut. It was the choice he didn’t really have.
The laughter around him picked up again, the group settling back into its usual rhythm. Liam stayed where he was for a moment longer, fingers brushing over his bare head, before stepping back into the circle—same place as before, but not quite the same.

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