for dear, kiss my heart
so i've started a hairdressing course myself, but indulge me. xD; i already had kitayama pinned for this occupation at the time i wrote the original drabbles. this is just something short. :D; because there don't need to be more AUs than i've already got going kjhkawe.
Crazy Bomb.
Kitayama, Totsuka. G; 670w. Set before the Antique Bakery Cafe drabbles at je100. Literally, they just live in the same direction, okay? 8DD;
*
Totsuka looks up automatically when a mobile phone enters his field of vision. It's not unusual on a Tokyo train, even late at night, but the odd thing about this one is that he can read its screen despite the privacy filter atop it.
It's tilted his way.
You have beautiful hair.
Totsuka blinks.
The phone is red, as much a fashion statement as the bands and cuffs around the hand that holds it. Two clicks and the thumb scrolls down.
Plus, you smell like coffee. (笑)
Nonplussed, Totsuka tugs his earbuds out and looks up. The phone disappears into a pocket and the boy-man, really-that it belongs to grins.
"Is that a good thing?" Totsuka asks him. Talking to strangers on the train; his mother would have been disappointed. But Totsuka's grown up now and no longer lives at home so she hardly has to know.
"It's unique," the phonebearer tells him matter-of-factly. "You know, it's rare around these parts to see hair your length that isn't bleached to death. Especially on a guy."
"Ah," Totsuka says. He'd been meaning to get a haircut for a while, but the café's been busy with the onset of winter (and in any case, his current length is good to tie out of the way during close). Though not self-conscious enough to be embarrassed, Totsuka does give a half smile. "And you're some sort of expert…?"
"Working on it," the phonebearer chuckles, flicking out a business card. "Kitayama Hiromitsu, junior stylist."
Totsuka takes the card and raises a brow at his recognition of the loud logo adorning it: HAIRsalon. "You work here?" he asks. His little sister likes the place. So do her friends.
"I work there," Kitayama says.
Given the context, Totsuka gives Kitayama a once-over, unabashed. (HAIR has a reputation among the high school crowd.) And true to expectation he finds the other relatively attractive.
Kitayama gets an amused look in his eyes. "You've heard of us," he says. Not a question.
"I have," Totsuka admits, equally amused. Sometimes, the café gets small hordes of excitable female types discussing their new haircuts or, more typically, the stylists that made them. ("You have get the shampoo done! Oh god, the massage-his fingers were so amazing…") It's hard not to overhear.
"Call me sometime if you want a complimentary cut," Kitayama offers, allover casual. "Our clientele is mostly female so I haven't had as much practice doing male styles as I'd like."
"Do I get the shampoo, too?" Totsuka asks just to be cheeky about it.
"I never cut dry hair," Kitayama smirks as their train pulls up. "Ah-this is my stop."
"Really?" Totsuka laughs. "Mine, too." And it's a full fifteen minutes' companionship before their paths split-into two apartment blocks barely down the road from each other.
"You must be joking," Kitayama says with incredulity outside Totsuka's ground floor security door. "How long have you lived here? How can I not have seen your hair before?"
"I usually take a slightly earlier train," Totsuka smiles. "The communal card game ran a little late tonight; and from what you've said, you start a little later than I do, too."
"Oh? Where do you work?" Kitayama asks.
Totsuka hums. "Just a little cake shop-the Antique Bakery Café."
Kitayama's eyes light up immediately. "The cutest cakes in town!" And Totsuka just has to laugh.
"You've heard of us?"
"Yeah, well…" Kitayama shrugs with a rueful grin. "A hairdresser is his client's captive audience. The girls say your cake is therapeutic."
"Our chef is a legend," Totsuka smiles over his shoulder as he steps through the door. (There isn't really another word with which to describe Tsukada.) "Come by after close some time if you want a complimentary slice."
"For the first-hand experience?" Kitayama chuckles. "I guess a trade is fair."
"It is indeed. I'll see you around."
*
abc-no-shouta.t@softbank.ne.jp
My mail.
A trade is only fair, after all.
Crazy Bomb.
Kitayama, Totsuka. G; 670w. Set before the Antique Bakery Cafe drabbles at je100. Literally, they just live in the same direction, okay? 8DD;
*
Totsuka looks up automatically when a mobile phone enters his field of vision. It's not unusual on a Tokyo train, even late at night, but the odd thing about this one is that he can read its screen despite the privacy filter atop it.
It's tilted his way.
You have beautiful hair.
Totsuka blinks.
The phone is red, as much a fashion statement as the bands and cuffs around the hand that holds it. Two clicks and the thumb scrolls down.
Plus, you smell like coffee. (笑)
Nonplussed, Totsuka tugs his earbuds out and looks up. The phone disappears into a pocket and the boy-man, really-that it belongs to grins.
"Is that a good thing?" Totsuka asks him. Talking to strangers on the train; his mother would have been disappointed. But Totsuka's grown up now and no longer lives at home so she hardly has to know.
"It's unique," the phonebearer tells him matter-of-factly. "You know, it's rare around these parts to see hair your length that isn't bleached to death. Especially on a guy."
"Ah," Totsuka says. He'd been meaning to get a haircut for a while, but the café's been busy with the onset of winter (and in any case, his current length is good to tie out of the way during close). Though not self-conscious enough to be embarrassed, Totsuka does give a half smile. "And you're some sort of expert…?"
"Working on it," the phonebearer chuckles, flicking out a business card. "Kitayama Hiromitsu, junior stylist."
Totsuka takes the card and raises a brow at his recognition of the loud logo adorning it: HAIRsalon. "You work here?" he asks. His little sister likes the place. So do her friends.
"I work there," Kitayama says.
Given the context, Totsuka gives Kitayama a once-over, unabashed. (HAIR has a reputation among the high school crowd.) And true to expectation he finds the other relatively attractive.
Kitayama gets an amused look in his eyes. "You've heard of us," he says. Not a question.
"I have," Totsuka admits, equally amused. Sometimes, the café gets small hordes of excitable female types discussing their new haircuts or, more typically, the stylists that made them. ("You have get the shampoo done! Oh god, the massage-his fingers were so amazing…") It's hard not to overhear.
"Call me sometime if you want a complimentary cut," Kitayama offers, allover casual. "Our clientele is mostly female so I haven't had as much practice doing male styles as I'd like."
"Do I get the shampoo, too?" Totsuka asks just to be cheeky about it.
"I never cut dry hair," Kitayama smirks as their train pulls up. "Ah-this is my stop."
"Really?" Totsuka laughs. "Mine, too." And it's a full fifteen minutes' companionship before their paths split-into two apartment blocks barely down the road from each other.
"You must be joking," Kitayama says with incredulity outside Totsuka's ground floor security door. "How long have you lived here? How can I not have seen your hair before?"
"I usually take a slightly earlier train," Totsuka smiles. "The communal card game ran a little late tonight; and from what you've said, you start a little later than I do, too."
"Oh? Where do you work?" Kitayama asks.
Totsuka hums. "Just a little cake shop-the Antique Bakery Café."
Kitayama's eyes light up immediately. "The cutest cakes in town!" And Totsuka just has to laugh.
"You've heard of us?"
"Yeah, well…" Kitayama shrugs with a rueful grin. "A hairdresser is his client's captive audience. The girls say your cake is therapeutic."
"Our chef is a legend," Totsuka smiles over his shoulder as he steps through the door. (There isn't really another word with which to describe Tsukada.) "Come by after close some time if you want a complimentary slice."
"For the first-hand experience?" Kitayama chuckles. "I guess a trade is fair."
"It is indeed. I'll see you around."
*
abc-no-shouta.t@softbank.ne.jp
My mail.
A trade is only fair, after all.