Just a Hair Stylist - Chris Evans story \\✔️

Chapter twenty-three

The premier for Mackie's new movie was a blast. Sure, you didn't walk the red carpet or anything,

but you hung out with Frank for the night, spent a little time with Anthony and some of his friends

and family, and saw a free movie. If you weren't already winning, you got to fangirl over a selfie

with Norman Reedus at the after party where you both flipped off the camera, because Daryl

Dixon. Meeting Woody Harrelson was just plain awesome. You couldn't resist sending a group

message pic of you, Anthony, and Frank all flexing together for the camera to Chris and everyone's

phones. Chris sent back a scowling selfie with his middle finger up and the inside of his trailer in

the background, plainly still at work and jealous. He followed it up a few minutes later with

congratulations for Anthony and told you all to have fun. He sent you your own message,

complimenting how nice you looked, even if Frank's "ugly mug" was trying to ruin the picture.

Things were busy for Chris over the next few days. While he worked Hollywood, you took to the

beach with a book and your OTP, Archie. You caught up on chores you'd been putting off, because

adulting sucks, caught a dinner with a couple of friends, and filled some p.m. hours at the salon.

When his week wound down, you guys got together for a Saturday matinee of Deadpool. He tried

to look offended when you gushed about how much you liked the movie, but he liked it almost as

much. From the couch in your living room, you laughed along with the round of tweets that came

out of his message to Ryan Reynolds.

There was definitely a feel of normalcy coming back. Neither of you had mentioned your fight(s)

or the resulting temporary split and you both seemed pretty okay with that. It wasn't that it didn't

pop up in the back of your mind at random times when you looked at him, it's just that you took a

breath and made the conscious effort to push them aside. Making the conscious effort to avoid

magazine racks and Google for a while didn't hurt either. But sitting in your living room on that

next Tuesday, with dinner in the oven and Chris on your couch, everything was right in the world.

"So what are you going to do about your hair?" you asked, eyes running over him while he scrolled

through his phone.

"My hair?" he parroted, a bit suspicious. He palmed his hand along his hair, suddenly seeming a

little self-conscious. "What about it?"

You shrugged with a contemplative pout. "Are you gonna let the color grow out, orrr..." You

reached out, piecing his hair with your fingertips for a thoughtful moment. "Roots are going to start

coming in soon."

"Huh," he exhaled. "Wasn't thinking about it. I should get an appointment before all the press

starts. Thanks."

"No problem. Just a random thought," you smiled, getting up from the couch to go to the kitchen

and check on dinner.