Hypnotised (Magnets Book 2)

Chapter 28

Dan's POV

A low buzzing sound filled the small barbershop as I watched the inky locks of silky hair tumble to the ground gracefully. Phil caught my eye in the mirror with a sympathetic grimace; I loved his hair as much, if not, even more than he did and he knew it. Neither of us were happy with this particular arrangement, but it wasn't not like there was anything we could do about it.

About anything, really. But we had already come to terms with that. A long time ago.

The hairdresser stood back and admired her work. Phil wasn't completely bald, but his hair was still quite short. He ran his hand over it uncertainly, the sensation obviously unfamiliar to him. I toyed with my own fringe, unable to imagine what it must feel like. To lose your hair.

"Does it look okay?" He asked me, the adorably shy smile on his face melting my heart.

"Looks amazing, as always," I reassured him, seeing the traces of worry on his face. He smiled at me, slightly nervously before following the blond haired hairdresser to the front desk. She charged him less than she should have, and for that I was grateful. We had plenty money and could have gone on perfectly fine without the discount, but she insisted. No, it was the notion itself.

When we got back into Phil's mum's car, I noticed him checking his reflection. "Phil, you look fine."

He shrugged and reached into the glovebox, pulling out a black beanie, saying, "It feels cold."

I started the car, looking up at the heavy clouds on the horizon. "Looks like it's going to storm later on. Actually, I did hear some warnings on the radio... Something about thunderstorms..."

Phil grinned suddenly. "Good."

I frowned. "Why on earth is that a good thing?"

"Because then our families won't be able to hear us..."

It took me a second, I'll admit. I blushed a deep red. "Oh - right, um..."

He nudged me, chuckling silently. "I'm just kidding, calm down."

"Fuck you. I'm trying to drive here, you know." My blush was fading, being replaced by a mock annoyance.

"I love how flustered you get. It provides me with great satisfaction." He said smugly.

"You sadist." But I was grinning. We then fell silent, but it was a comfortable silence. I was content, he was 'satisfied', and we were both in a good place.

"I used to have a buzz cut, you know," Phil admitted, breaking the silence.

"You did not!" I exclaimed.

He nodded, and I could basically see the years of regret flashing before his eyes. "I was about 15, I think. It was this nasty brown colour."

I scoffed. "I have to see a picture."

He smiled. "I'll show you when we get home."

And show me, he did. We ended up sprawled across his bedroom floor, surrounded by albums and piles of photos.

"Phil, taking selfies before it was cool." I commented, lifting up a photo of him where he'd obviously tried to take a photo of himself with a digital camera. The flash had turned his eyes red, his - get this, blonde -­ hair shining.

"Oh my God, put that away." He tried to grab it from me, but I rolled away.

"What's this, then?" I lifted up a baby picture of Phil, obviously at some party, his face smeared with chocolate cake. "Not much has changed, I see."