Frerard One-Shots

Haircutter

Written by Spencer7639 on Deviantart

 Frank had never gotten his hair cut by anyone other then his mother. But his parents were across the country now, their only connection a check received in the mail once a month. Did Frank regret not going with them and living a life in the warm state of California? Not the slightest bit. He loved New Jersey; it was where he grew up; where he was born, even.

But in the time between his parents moving and this particular day, Frank's hair was too long for comfort. He had a new hairstyle in mind; and now that his parents were gone, there was no one to roll their eyes at it every time he went downstairs. That was the best part of living on his own. His parents couldn't judge him like they did before. The only thing decent they ever did for him was, being the rich couple they were, pay him monthly until his music career took off. Yet Frank was 22 now, and his hopes for the dream to come true were slipping away quickly.

So, cutting his hair; Frank stopped at a barber shop down town on the way to his house. It was old looking and run down, and rarely had he ever seen anyone go in there. He'd heard from his friends that the owner, (who's name escaped him now; he thought it started with a 'G'...) was great at cutting hair, but he was a little weird. Frank shrugged off such a statement. Because for most people, 'weird' just meant 'different'. And in Frank's book, 'different' means 'awesome'.

Frank entered the shop rather nervously and felt like he walked into a funeral. A funeral for two, that is. The only occupants of the small shop was a woman at the front desk who was texting away on her phone, taking no notice of Frank yet, and beyond was a dark haired man, sitting in one of the chairs and reading a magazine. Frank cleared his throat, quickly acquiring the woman's attention. She looked up and grinned.

"Oh, hello!" She greeted him, "Would you like an appointment?"

The man in the chair looked up and chuckled. "Oh, yes, I'm VERY booked today. Could be a few hours..." his voice trailed off and they both laughed, apparently sharing an inside joke Frank wasn't catching.

"How soon can you take me?" Frank asked cautiously. Were they closed or something? He wondered.

"Right now!" the black haired man sprang from his seat and traveled to Frank, holding his hand out for him to take. "Come, I'll get you set up."

Frank stared at his for a moment, just taking in the sudden person at his presence. His hair was jet black and reached to his chin, looking very soft and touchable. His skin was pale white--almost vampire-like but...more natural and delicate looking. And possibly the most obvious thing to Frank at the time were his eyes. They were a bright hazel that he spotted from all the way across the room.

Finally, Frank accepted the offer and rested his hand in his with a smile. He was quickly whisked away and placed in the chair the man was previously resting in. Frank thought all this was quite...odd, yet welcoming and warm. The man stood behind Frank and they both faced the mirror. He smiled widely and looking at him through it.

"So what's your name, hun?" He asked happily.

"Frank," he replied, "Yours?"

"I'm Gerard." he paused and squinted his eyes still smiling. "Hm...Frank....can I call you Frankie?"

Frank chuckled, but nodded. In his 22 years of life, no one had ever, in any situation, called him 'Frankie'. "Sure, why not?"

"Awesome." Gerard began playing with Frank's hair, tiling his head and making a duck face for a moment. Frank couldn't help but find this adorable. "So, Frankie, what kinda hair you looking for?"