DRAGON (mxm)

14. In Style (Deon)

   "Are you crazy? No! Absolutely not! I am indisputably not giving you permission to shave my head," Chris yells, grabbing my hand, so that I cannot bring the trimmer any closer to his hair. "Just try it and I promise, I'll return the favor while you sleep. You can count on me."

   "Ohhh, I'm shaking with fear," I snort through laughter, flinging my arm over his shoulders to keep him seated on the chair as he constantly tries to jump up and run away. "You will do yourself no good with such revenge."

   "And why is that?" he asks defiantly, finally giving up the attempts.

   "Because you will always be super cute, with or without hair, while I cannot claim the same." I drop the trimmer on the table, letting it thump loud enough for him to hear, and take the scissors instead. "You'll have to bear the consequences of living under the same roof with a ridiculously looking man."

   "And why should I care?" he snickers. "I can't see you, so it's perfectly fine by me."

   "Do you have a ready answer to everything?" I smile, circling around him to get a better idea of the damages, which turned out to be more than I expected. The more I look at him, the more he grows on me. Beautiful. Delicate facial features, high cheekbones, pouty lips, skin like velvet and genuine charm. I am too distracted by staring at him biting his lip, so I desperately huff, "I admit I overestimated my abilities. Your hair is singed to the roots on the right side. A small part is almost unaffected, but the rest is a mess. Each strand is of a different length. There is no way to style it evenly, unless you consent to a very short buzz cut."

   "I don't like the idea of having no hair around my face," Chris discontentedly wrinkles his nose. "Being able to tuck it behind the ears gives me a sense of security. I am not used to... Well, they shaved me once, at the shelter..."

   He hesitates. I crouch in front of him and take his hand to encourage him, "Go on. Tell me about it. I want to know."

   Chris needs to talk and I need to hear what he has to say. 

   A shaky breath makes his lips tremble, but he continues, "It was about a year after The Impact. I was frightened, in shock, and convinced that, if I flee, I would find my parents still waiting for me at home. I couldn't accept they were gone. I was already planning to make a break for it. There were mostly children in the shelter. Several women took care of us, each responsible for a group of thirty kids. We called them mentors. They were the only adults, if we don't count the soldiers, guarding on the outside of the concrete wall. The building was their former barracks."

   We stay silent for a while. His face is emotionless, but I can feel the pain, radiating from every gesture and every word. He probably hasn't told anyone about this. The memory was buried deep, but never forgotten.

   "The sound of the siren warned of a third degree hazard that day," he quietly speaks. I dare not breathe, wishing to give him all the peace of mind he needs. His voice is steady and his hand is warm in mine. I am happy to comfort him. "It was usually nothing. Even a strong gust of wind would be considered dangerous. I guess, the military did not know yet what they were dealing with, and what to expect. They were too cautious. The smallest change in the weather was treated as a major threat. I do not blame them. I would do the same if I had to keep a small army of kids safe. The assigned mentor warned our group to stay inside, but I was too curious. The air smelled strange, of melted sugar and cotton candy, mixed with the pungent scent of vinegar. I sneaked out and climbed on the roof to see what was happening. White dust was falling from the sky, like a snow flurry, but warm and stinky. The outraged woman pulled me back inside a second before I was ready to open my mouth and taste it. She saved my life. The weird snow turned out to be highly toxic. It was easy to remove it from the skin with some soap and water, but nothing could wash the clothes and my matted hair. That's how I lost it. I stole a guard's motorbike and escaped the very next day."