What is a friend but hairdresser with history?

The Past

"Are you sure about this?"

The shorter squid stares right ahead. Through the mirror, someone stares back. They're both the same height, the same weight, the same build, they're wearing the same clothing, their eyes and their ink are exactly the same colour. The figure in the mirror's tentacles, however, are long and heavy, flopping down over their frame, over the stool and almost onto the floor, halting just before hitting the cool blue tile. They're cumbersome, moving on their own half the time. The individual outside of the mirror is certain that they have to go.

They're misrepresentative.

Stood behind is the taller squid, tentacles tied up and out of the way, drooping behind the head. The shorter looks back through the mirror, almost perfectly still. There's tools galore on the table to the side of them, out of the way of the full-length mirror, temporarily propped up for this reason only. The taller reaches over and grabs a bottle of thick gel, explicitly made for this very purpose. It's common stuff, but the shorter has never used it before - never had to. It was for inklings more like the taller, where maintenance of shorter, thinner styles was expected. That's why the shorter had asked the taller to do this.

"Yes." The shorter's words don't falter. They can't falter now.

"...And you're sure you want me to do this?" The taller applies the gel in a diagonal line on the shorter's right tentacle, from just above the ear down to almost the chin. It's exactly what the shorter talked about earlier. "I haven't used these for a while now..."

The shorter knows this. The taller squid has been working on growing out longer and thicker tentacles for a while, swearing to not cut them when the time would come when they were normally due to be cut, but the taller would hesitate to leave the house without doing so, scared of judgement, and end up cutting them anyway. The shorter remembers recent times where they'd sat together, the taller holding the shorter's tentacles and admiring the length and width and weight. For the longest time, it had just confused the shorter. Who would want tentacles like that?

But after skipping haircut day twice now, the taller squid's were starting to thicken. The two had talked about tentacle length back and forth because of it, pondering over what they'd do in an ideal world, who they'd be if they had the bravery to talk about it, about exactly what they'd change. Their feelings weren't an exact match, but they shared similarities. When it came to this, they understood each other better than anyone else they'd ever met did. The taller is quiet, and doesn't always talk of feelings straight, but this topic had been different as a feeling they shared. The shorter knows the taller understands. The trust, on this alone, is unquestionable.

"Omega doesn't have the tools," says the shorter. Well, there's that too. Hot and sharp haircut blades are an inkling boy's thing. Just like the shorter, Omega's never cut her hair yet.

The taller takes the large scissors, plugged in at the wall and hot. Hands move the right tentacle out of the way of the shorter squid's ear, and the shorter tenses in an attempt to keep still, eyes shut, almost silencing respiration. The scissors snip in a quick line, and the taller holds the blade flat to the cut, letting it sizzle to a close. The heat and gel make the experience clean and painless, and the shorter feels the tentacle flop down onto its previous owner's knees, a small amount of ink pouring out of the freshly cut thin end of it. The taller squid pulls the blade away and hooks it onto a stand, admiring the work done in the mirror.

"What do you think?"

The shorter squid has been so preoccupied with worry and the old tentacle that the new sight in the mirror hadn't even crossed the shorter's mind. In the mirror, half a new squid stares back. The asymmetry is obvious, both in appearance and in weight, as the shorter struggles to not let the remaining long tentacle pull the head it's attached to down to the side, but the cut side feels... almost right. Better. The shorter brings a hand up, not disrupting the fresh cut ends, but feeling how small and mobile what remains is.

"Do the other one."

The taller squid doesn't hesitate: gel applied, cut made, tentacle missing the shorter's lap entirely this time and hitting the floor straight away. The cuts are pretty much a perfect match, which the taller is glad of, but the shorter is too preoccupied to be impressed. The squid in the mirror looks perfect, just right, for now. Their haircut is all the shorter has been dreaming of, now made true. The squid in the mirror's mouth makes a tiny circle as they lean forward, towards reality.

"Do you like it?" Anxiety starts to kick into the taller squid. Cod, messing up a haircut would be a big deal. The taller puts the hot tool back on the stand and turns it off at the wall so that those anxious hands don't fiddle with it. "I think it looks cute..."

The shorter's eyes feel something pool into them, and they blink rapidly in an attempt to keep it there. The shorter turns to the taller, shifting on the stool.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

The taller gazes back, but suddenly remembers something, and eyes shoot up in realisation. Hands pull at the hair tie that keeps tentacles in place, and lets them fall behind the taller squid's ears, thick and dropping just above the shoulders. The taller bends down to eye level with the shorter and looks towards the mirror, gesturing for the shorter to do the same. A hand pulls one of the uncut tentacles out to compare it with a freshly cut one, the difference drastic.

"Look," babbles the taller, "mine are longer."

They look at the mirror, and at each other, and at their contrasting tentacles. Their smiles are euphoric.