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Goro Akechi must be picture perfect at all times.
It's the price of being a teen celebrity, unfortunately. No matter what happens, no matter what he's doing, Goro must look his best; flawless skin, freshly pressed clothes, and perfectly fluffy hair—hair that frames his face in a way that softens his sharp, intimidating features and instead, makes him look completely innocent. Every piece of him is calculated to the smallest possible detail—and fine, maybe he does like looking good. Maybe he does like preening himself like a peacock. Maybe he does like the attention he gets for his looks. Beauty products and hair conditioners make him feel good damn it! He can do what he wants!
And so, because he can do whatever he wants—he decides to get his hair trimmed at a barber. And then pampered, like the little attention seeking gremlin he accepts himself as. And, admittedly, he'd been tense for a while now. Stress doesn't usually get the better of him, but when it does, it really does. Goro has so few outlets that don't bite into his schedule so greedily, outside of working out—and that has its limits. But pampering himself, doing something special? It's something he needs, before his schedule fills up again and suffocates him.
Getting pampered is a good way to keep him sane; and one of the high end barbershops is a good way to get pampered. He hasn't gone to a proper barbershop in a while, always too busy to get the full experience. He always ends up rushing to one of the cheaper alternatives for a trim that takes five minutes of his time at most. But this time—this time! His teachers extended the deadline on an assignment he already finished, he doesn't have cram school today, and he hasn't taken on any new cases yet. For once in his life, he has time to spend on whatever he wants to do! He can relax!
Smiling to himself and with a small spring in his step, he makes his way to one of the best barbershops he knows of, with services ranging from five minute cuts to a full on spa day, with drinks and everything. Having looked up what they could do, Goro had already picked; a trim to maintain his look with the massage and skin treatment—because damn it, if he's going to be an insufferable peacock then he's going to be the most beautiful insufferable peacock.
He struts in, smiling wide at the staff and telling them what he wants with the most sugary tone he can. "Ah, if it's not too much to ask, your best barber, please," he tacks on, because he isn't about to risk having some inexperienced buffoon touch his hair.
The lady at the desk gives an apologetic smile. "Oh, I'm sorry, our senior staff are currently preoccupied. But I assure you, everyone here is highly capable!"
Goro's own smile twitches at that, but he wrangles his mild annoyance into submission, stuffing it into the cage where all his other repressed emotions go. He can't exactly argue—and so he doesn't. He simply lets the lady guide him to a chair in the more secluded VIP area and assures him that a skilled barber will be working with him. The fact it's the one at the front desk that's leading him (and subsequently, abandoning her post) tells him that they're understaffed. Meaning, an intern might end up touching his hair. Great.
She promptly leaves him alone and Goro is left with nothing else to do but look around the room; there are only three seats, the other one being occupied by a man getting his hair bleached. Goro wrinkles his nose at the smell.
"Whoa, Akechi?"
That voice. Goro knows that voice. His head snaps back to face the other and is, to his dismay, met with none other than the shit eating grin of Kurusu. Words fail him, barely even crawling out of his mouth to communicate his abject horror at the prospect of having Kurusu trim his hair and massage him and touch him—
"What are you doing here?" Goro doesn't even try to smile politely, and instead tries to ignore the obvious fact that Kurusu is in the staff uniform.
"I," Kurusu brings up a pair of scissors and snips the air, "have many jobs."
Words fail Goro spectacularly. Of course Kurusu does. Of course Kurusu has another job. Full of surprises like always, Goro supposes. The sheer coincidence that this is happening at all confounds him to such a degree that his comprehension had jumped out the window. Kurusu laughs behind a curled hand, evidently taking the turn of events with infinitely more grace than Goro could hope to achieve right now. Through some kind of otherworldly magic, Kurusu manages to coax Goro out of his stupor enough to move to the washbowl. He vaguely wonders, as he sits down and is wrapped in a towel, how he must look completely stupefied and clearly at a loss. Kurusu doesn't make fun of him, thank god, but he does smirk and chuckle —with such a deep velvety voice, that voice that haunts my dreams— as Goro lowers his head into the bowl.
Kurusu asks if he would rather that the water be warm or cold. "Any," Goro says quietly, his brain having shut down all functions except for the most necessary ones, such as breathing and responding to Kurusu. The water hits his head; it's the perfect temperature. And then, he feels a hand—
Goro shoots upright and Kurusu yelps. "What's wrong?!"
Your hand was in my hair. "Too hot."
"O-oh," Kurusu lowers the temperature and tests the water. Then, he coaxes Goro back down and lets Goro feel it. "That alright?"
It's too cold. "Perfect."
Kurusu hums with a smile and gets to work again. Goro steels himself, prepares for the touch again; but perhaps doing so is counterproductive, because now he's more focused than ever on Kurusu's hands carefully washing his hair, threading fingers in between the strands with such gentleness that Goro is somehow blindsided. It gives him a warm, not entirely unwelcome feeling that's new and terrifying but also kind of— exciting? A cocktail of emotions Goro can't quite swallow down, let alone dissect; and it overflows and drenches his fingers in warmth. Obliviously, Kurusu keeps working and Goro is caught between relaxing and holding his guard—and that in itself introduces another kind of stress Goro is used to. It's something that always rears its head when he's with Kurusu, and now it practically breathes down his neck, waiting for him to ruin his friendship with the boy.
The sound of the showerhead being switched off and put down cuts through his thoughts; Goro hears the squirt of a bottle and Kurusu's hands are in his hair again, massaging his scalp and lathering his hair. It's so…intimate. Goro wishes desperately that he could relax, but he can't, too worried about making a fool of himself—even if he knows Kurusu wouldn't care.
They’ve been friends for a while now, hanging out with each other whenever either of them find time between their myriad jobs. Despite his reservations, despite his paranoia that Kurusu only wanted to hang out because of the boost in reputation, he finds that he can’t exactly pin that kind of ulterior motive to the other. Not when Kurusu so openly speaks, not when Kurusu helps Goro disguise himself in broad daylight to not be bothered by fangirls… Kurusu is genuine, hopelessly so. And Goro is so smitten, he can't even relax. He closes his eyes, trying to will the tension in his shoulders away.
It works, somewhat. He has to push aside the thought that it's Kurusu touching him, but it works. He breathes in then breathes out, carefully draining the tautness of his back—
“Enjoying yourself?”
Goro’s eyes snap open and Kurusu gives a low chuckle that seizes Goro’s heart the instant it graces his ears. His heart beats frantically in the firm hold Kurusu has it in and Goro can barely get a word out and Kurusu is so gentle and his voice is so soft— “As much as I can with you around.”
He has to act tough to save face. He can't let Kurusu's touches get to him. But he fails miserably when Kurusu is oddly silent and breaks almost instantly when Kurusu just gives a soft, dejected, “oh.”
“I mean—” Goro is not good at improvising. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” Think! Think harder! Think quicker! “ It’s just—” He worries if Kurusu can feel his brain trying to work, as fingers continue the idle lather and rinse.
“It’s just?”
“We’re friends, and…” The gears audibly turn in his head. “It’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Doing something like this for a friend…”
Kurusu is in the middle of a rinse when Goro says that and he almost regrets it when Kurusu shuts the water off to reply. “Do you…not want me to do this?” His voice has some semblance of hurt Goro can’t bear. “I can get someone else, if you like. I didn’t think this would make you so uncomfortable. I’m sorry I didn't realize sooner, I’ll get someone else—”
“No!”
The words rip out of Goro faster than he can stop them to think about first. It comes out louder too, and the only other customer and barber shoot a nervous glance at them. Kurusu, meanwhile, looks surprised and unsure of what to do. Goro sinks a little into the chair, as much as he can without getting shampoo on the leather. “I-I’m sorry, I’m just…not used to this.”
“Oh.” Kurusu gets a more thoughtful look and his voice lowers. “I guess you wouldn’t be used to me touching you like this.”
Goro’s cheeks flare up and Kurusu looks confused for a moment before his own face turns a bright pink. “I meant that the most we’ve ever done is—! Wait that’s still—”
Goro covers his face with a groan. “Please, just continue.”
There’s a pause; a pause that only lasts a second, Goro’s sure, but it feels like an eternity as Kurusu starts the water back up.
It’s tense now; much more tense than before. Kurusu's touches are more tentative, and despite not seeing him, Goro figures he has a more concentrated expression as he observes Goro’s minute reactions. Because of course; Kurusu has always been attentive like that. He always had been able to pinpoint the smallest details in body language to decipher Goro’s discomfort with a situation; anything from there being too many fans, to people in shops obviously trying to suck up to him—to even simply not liking something in the food. How lucky Kurusu’s closer friends must be; to have a friend so attuned to them and doting and caring and gentle and—
The water shuts off again and Kurusu lightly picks the towel wrapped around Goro’s shoulders, shifting it to wrap around his hair instead. Goro sits up on Kurusu’s quiet instruction and is led back to the seat, where Kurusu unwraps the towel and starts drying off the excess water with it. They make eye contact as he does—and Goro immediately looks somewhere else. Kurusu chuckles. When Goro looks back, Kurusu is still looking at him with a smirk.
It seizes Goro’s heart the same way Kurusu’s laugh did and he freezes as he looks into Kurusu’s eyes. Oh god, he must be a mess—he can’t stop the embarrassed flush of his cheeks, which only gets worse as Kurusu holds both of his shoulders, thumbs tracing circles into his back. “You’re looking a little red there,” Kurusu lowers his head and voice, "Goro."
The sound that leaves Goro is high pitched and inhuman. He jerks away, burning up completely and Kurusu just laughs, the bastard. “Sorry, sorry, I”— a cute snort— “couldn’t help it.”
Goro doesn’t have the strength to be angry. “Are you going to trim my hair or just laugh at me?” Ah, he thankfully has enough to be annoyed.
Kurusu doesn't take Goro's annoyance to heart. He hides his joy behind a hand and nods with a look that's only slightly apologetic. He quickly composes himself and starts working through Goro’s hair with a comb, gentle yet efficient. Still, every now and then, Kurusu makes eye contact with Goro and smiles.
There’s fondness in that smile and Goro struggles to do something with this information. He wants to pull out his phone and type away, but that feels rude. He wants to talk the tension away, but he doesn’t know what to say. He wants to kiss Kurusu silly just to get it over with, but he feels frozen in place. He can't do anything except let Kurusu do his job and keep himself from melting at the surprising tenderness in having his hair combed by someone he likes.
I like him so much.
Goro doesn't have the strength to deny it (he hasn't for a while), but he has enough to at least try and outwardly pretend he doesn't. Just to save face, though futile at this point. Kurusu's warmth feels like a fire Goro can't help but wander close to. He's always had these feelings, formed by the way Kurusu is always so genuine and happy around him. Physical appearance is one thing—and the other really is quite charming—but Goro finds the most attractive part of Kurusu is his eyes; smokey and always glinting, fondness always clear and genuine. Kurusu always looks at Goro like he's something to behold, and it melts him, turns him into a boneless, blushing mess.
Is Goro being a hopeless romantic? Yes. He's self aware. He's also aware he's probably reading too much into Kurusu—but his rose colored glasses are also magnifying glasses, and every single little thing Kurusu does (that is most probably standard friend-things) is blown out of proportion in Goro's addled brain. And that's part of his anxiety—simply not knowing.
He's sick; sick with the very chronic illness of having a crush on a huge dork. A dork that flirts(?) And Goro can't tell if that dork is serious or not.
He can't relax at all. He's too focused on Kurusu's movements, hyper aware and his thoughts in overdrive. He wants to relax and enjoy himself, but he can't, too worried about being obvious or finally weirding Kurusu out or—or stressing about if maybe—maybe Kurusu likes him too. Because Goro is Goro, and he can't help being anxious about it, thoughts going back to their previous outings together, analyzing every single thing. He wants to hold Kurusu's hand as they eat crepes together; he wants to quietly whisper into Kurusu's ear and not worry about his lips being too close while they're at a club; he wants to be able to hug Kurusu and stay there, while at LeBlanc, not having to worry about being bothered.
Goro is just too high strung and he knows. He wishes he isn't, but he can't help it.
I want Kurusu to like me too.
When all the tangles in his hair have been coaxed out and he looks more like a drowned rat than a clump of hair, Kurusu gets the scissors. "So, a trim right?"
Goro nods. "Y-yes," he marks with his fingers an estimated length, "about up to here."
"Hmm, a little vague but—ah! Wait I think we have a picture of you."
That gets an embarrassing snort, a genuine laugh, and toothy smile out of Goro. For a moment his tension leaves, only artificially extended when Kurusu quickly excuses himself and leaves the room to get it. Goro breathes a sigh. He can do this. It's a lot to process, considering how touch starved he is and still unwilling to let himself go. He leans against the leather backrest and his eyes wander to the other customer. The customer's long hair is bleached now—and dried it seems, having gone to wash it off some time ago. The man soon leaves and the barber begins packing up just as Kurusu comes back with a goddamn poster of him.
"Huh," Goro says.
"Lots of people look up to you." Kurusu places the poster on the vanity, not quite blocking Goro's reflection. "You won't believe how many people come in asking for this hairstyle—so I've been told just five seconds ago, anyway."
He laughs at that as Kurusu bends a little, trusty scissors in hand, starting with the back. Kurusu only gets a syllable out for a quip when disaster strikes. The other barber had finished cleaning up, and so began leaving the room with a bowl of bleach powder in hand. Just as Kurusu bends. And suddenly, the barber knocks into Kurusu. The bowl tips over and Kurusu yelps and—
Snip!
Everyone freezes. Goro feels raw, cold panic take a hold of him, Kurusu looks pale and the bleach-barber is absolutely mortified. It is absolutely silent for a moment, and it only lets up when Goro asks: "Wh-what happened?"
"I-I'm so sorry, sir!" The bleach-barber begins bowing profusely, bending in half with the now-empty bowl of bleach mix. "I'm truly sorry, please, let me fix it—"
"What happened?" Goro's voice is shakier.
Silently, with a new brand of panic Goro hasn't seen in the other before, Kurusu picks up a mirror and angles it so Goro can see the back of his head.
It's horrible.
A diagonal cut, deep and across his head, almost impossible to hide. It goes past almost all his layers of hair, which isn't that thick to begin with. The cut makes the hair at the back shorter; almost as short as the fringes at the sides of his face—if not shorter.
Kurusu quickly puts the mirror down and hisses. "Wait, I need to change—damn it, what kind of developer did you use?"
"F-forty volume?" The bleach-barber says.
"Fuck!"
Kurusu bolts out, presumably to the break room. The bleach-barber looks mortified and at a loss. He flounders but settles on placing the bowl down and frantically searches the magazines in the room, muttering to himself. Goro, however, barely registers any of that. He stares at his own reflection and then the poster and then his reflection again. He lightly touches the back, running his fingers over the short hairs. It's near his scalp, much nearer than he'd like. He keeps running his fingers over them, trying to keep himself composed but…
It's his day off today. He doesn't have any more break days in the foreseeable future. He was supposed to relax. He was supposed to have a good day today. He was going to pamper himself but instead he's been tense all day and now…
It's embarrassing, but the stress of everything from the last few weeks just gets to him. His eyes get blurry and suddenly, he has tears trailing down his face. The bleach-barber freezes again, mid-page-turn. He visibly struggles to find what to say before he bows repeatedly, bent in half, apologizing profusely.
Kurusu comes back shortly after, sees the scene, and shoos the guy away.
"Akechi?"
Goro hides his face then, turning away from the other and covering his eyes with a hand. "Don't look at me."
"Akechi…"
"I've just… I've been having a rough week, stress everywhere. I just wanted…"
Goro hears Kurusu shifting and suddenly, the source of Kurusu's voice changes to in front of him. "Goro, hey, it's okay. I can fix it, I promise."
"It's not just the hair, Kurusu!" Goro snaps, looking at the other, not caring about the tears. "I just. I've been so tense this whole time because—"
"Because of me?"
Goro hides again. He's feeling so much and he can't understand why. His hair is ruined—his whole look is ruined. The prospect of the internet dragging him through the mud for this eats at him, fills his mind with nightmare scenarios. He has to look perfect—he has to look perfect and have perfect grades and perfect composure. He doesn't know where to go from here, with so many thoughts swimming in his head, the floodgates opened by the one simple snip. And the cherry on top: Kurusu, concerned for him, wanting to help, because of course. Kurusu is always like that. So helpful, so caring, so—
"Goro?"
That gets him. He's not sure how it gets him, but it does, and the dam breaks and Goro doesn't care. "Why do you flirt with me, Kurusu? I can't—it's so much for me. I can't handle always wondering if you like me back, I…"
For a moment, Kurusu doesn't reply. Goro prepares for the worst; from Kurusu saying he's reading too much into it to outright disgust with him. Kurusu looks slightly dumbfounded before he says: "Goro, I flirt with you…because I like you."
Goro snaps his head to the other. Kurusu just looks slightly confused before the confusion melts away into a chuckle; and then a full blown laugh. "Goro, I—I thought it was obvious. You're obvious."
Embarrassment, hot as fire, burns his face and Goro looks away again. He can feel himself pouting; a habit that he can't get rid of. Kurusu laughs again but it's so fond that Goro feels less self conscious. His eyes meet Kurusu's again and though he can't handle the loving look the other gives him—he can't look away either. He's overwhelmed, but with another, more positive feeling. Love, maybe?
Kurusu touches his face and Goro's brain completely shuts down right then and there. "You're really handsome, Goro."
Oh, good, he has a pre-prepared quip for this. "Are you trying to flatter me, Kurusu?"
"Okay one, literally everyone calls me Akira. Just call me that."
Akira, Akira, Akira.
"And two, yeah, maybe I'm trying to flatter you a bit, but I'm mostly stating a fact," Akira says, hand slipping to the back of Goro's head and—is it possible for his brain to shut down even more? "Any look would suit you. We can fix this."
Goro doesn't have a quip for that and it must be obvious because Akira laughs yet again. It's bright and warm and his heart is full and Goro loves it all. Smiling, Akira continues: "Let's wash your hair again, since it's getting dry now."
It still feels like he's a bit of a drowned rat, but he's not about to argue. The tension is gone, alleviated by Akira's simple return of his feelings and—it feels nice. It feels nice to be wanted, and cherished, and taken care of. He's going to try and salvage today and he's grateful he can do it with Akira.
Akira, Akira, Akira…
Goro's ushered to the same washbowl, though this time it feels different. He's glad to this time, and when Akira asks if it's too cold, he answers honestly. He melts when Akira begins rinsing and lathering his hair; his eyes close and he feels a small smile on his lips. Akira does his job, but is much more indulgent and gentle and—Goro loves it. He soaks up the attention and care like a sponge and willingly submerges himself in it. Akira rinses off all the shampoo and pecks his forehead before wrapping his hair in the towel. They move to the same chair and Akira dries off the extra water and pecks his cheek. Akira combs his hair until everything is straight, and when Goro asks for a story to just indulge him, Akira does.
Akira tells him about the last thing Mona did to piss Sojiro off, how Mona purrs when the opening of an anime plays, and how Mona even goes so far as to eat Akira's homework in a bid for attention. And all the while, Goro watches Akira snip a surprising amount of hair from one side—and he doesn't even get anxious or freak out. He trusts Akira with this, surprisingly; and with Akira, his worries about public opinion seem so far away.
It doesn't take long before one side of his hair barely brushes his ear, and Akira begins working on the other, shortening it but not as much, and in layers. Akira parts his hair at the side, combs it over to the other side with longer hair, and trims here and there. Finally, Akira picks up a hairdryer and goes through the process of styling properly.
When Akira pulls away, Goro's hair is as fluffy as before, but…different. It's much shorter now, with one side longer than the other. His left is a more standard men's cut, while his other side cascades in layers. His face is still framed, but the asymmetry draws the eyes to his. He looks striking in a way he wasn't before; with his long hair mostly gone, the sharpness of his features shines through. He doesn't have the innocent look he usually goes for.
"What do you think?"
Goro…isn't sure yet. He turns his head this way and that, taking note that one side makes him look innocent while the other makes him look more intimidating. "I don't look bad, at least."
"I think you look dashing. "
Goro hides his embarrassed smile with a hand. Akira's arms wrap around him. "You wanted that face treatment thing, right?"
"Will you be doing it?"
"Of course."
Goro laughs. "Then yes."
With that, Akira gets a spare, plastic chair, lowers Goro's, then sits over his head, giving the intimate illusion that Goro's lying down on Akira's lap. Akira holds his face. "Are you comfortable?"
"Very."
Akira flashes a smile and sets to work and Goro closes his eyes, soaking in the way Akira massages his temples and scalp and melting in how Akira gently rubs moisturizing oils into his cheeks. Once or twice, Goro leans into the touch like a cat and Akira pauses in what he's doing just to stroke his cheek or fix his hair, tucking it behind an ear. Akira then pecks his forehead and continues the calming motions. Goro finds himself almost falling asleep. He can feel Akira encouraging it too, in the way he coaxes out the tension from his jaw, how he goes over the eye area with hypnotic motions…
It's warm and safe in Akira's arms. Or—hands, he supposes. Akira is so surprisingly gentle and so honest in even his touches that Goro feels everything at once. Akira indulges him, goes slow and thorough, using hypnotic motions that makes Goro feel like he's in a warm cocoon. Akira even goes the extra mile of carefully working on his neck. Goro hums in content.
It's addicting, being showered in affection like this—and when Akira lightly pats his cheek, calling his attention that they're done, Goro is visibly disappointed. Akira rights the chair, takes off the cloth around Goro's shoulders, and pecks his cheek with a bright smile—as if apologizing for not being able to go on longer. Akira fusses with Goro’s hair again, carefully combing through it again and making sure everything is in the right place before finally pulling away.
The attention renders Goro a little light headed and it takes him a moment to find the energy to leave. Suddenly, not having Akira's hands on his face or in his hair makes him feel empty, and he stubbornly holds Akira's hand like a child that doesn't want to go yet. Akira snickers, because of course he does, and wraps Goro in a hug.
"You're such a cat.”
"Mm." He's not denying it.
Akira pulls away then, but not without a quick peck to his other cheek. "You still have to pay."
He laughs. "Yes, yes, I know."
They walk back to the cashier, who had been scolding the bleach-barber with the other staff, and they all freeze when they look at Goro. It's not a look of horror, but surprise; and the other staff's expressions melt into approval. Akira grins at his superiors and Goro very casually ignores the bleach-barber running off and pulls out his wallet. "So how much is it again?"
The lady at the front desk looks stricken. "A-ah… we can give it for free, since—"
"No," Goro says, smiling sweetly. He knows doing that could mean Akira would have to pay up instead, and he's not going to risk that. "I insist."
"Ah… okay… Thank you, Akechi-san."
The cashier hesitantly then rings him up and prints a receipt. And as if on cue, the bleach-barber comes in again, this time with a wrapped box in hand. He bows low, gift extended out to Goro with both hands. "Sir, please accept this gift as an apology! I’m truly sorry!"
Goro gives a polite, but strained smile. He tries to remind himself it was an accident, and accidents happen all the time, so he shouldn't be too angry. He accepts the gift and says a polite yet strained thank you before turning back to Akira.
Just looking at him melts all of Goro's anger away.
"I…had a good time." Goro smiles, sincere. He tucks the small bit of hair he can behind his ear. "Thank you, Akira. For everything."
Akira grins. "Of course. Can I get a kiss?"
He knows it's a joke, so of course he quickly steps in Akira's space and pecks the other's lips. Akira startles, the staff startles, everyone in the barber startles except Goro, who pulls back with a smirk. The kiss is quick enough that no one could have possibly gotten a picture of it, and Akira's face is pure gold, completely in shock and a lovely shade of pink from the bridge of his nose to his ears.
"There's your kiss." Goro waves as Akira sputters. "I'll text you later, honey. "
He leaves then, chuckling at Akira grasping for words, and he makes his way to the station. He could get used to flustering the boy like that.
Goro breathes in, then out; he feels lighter, both literally and figuratively. The tension he'd had pent up the past few weeks is finally dispersed, and he feels less like he's about to snap in two. Instead, he's giddy; his heart soaring high and his lips in a relaxed smile. He doesn't even mind how some people around him whisper to each other; he doesn't worry about what they say.
As he waits for the train, he plays with the tip of his hair.
He likes it, he decides.