Chapter Text
The bell above the door jingled, signalling the arrival of a new client. Luka continued to shake and fold towels in the back room, hearing the muffled voice of their boss chatting to the customer. Their brow quirked at the nervous change in his tone, prompting their curiosity. It was rare for Nil’s booming voice to waver under anyone’s scrutiny. To avoid any embarrassment of being caught peeking, they decided to ignore the anomaly and continue their task. They were almost done for the day after all and their bed was already singing their name. The sound of thudding footsteps entered the back room, their boss frantically approaching Luka’s coworker, who was refilling shampoo bottles.
“Saif! It’s him! He’s here!” Nil hissed, gripping his subordinate’s shoulders and shaking aggressively.
“Who?” Saif asked, his voice vibrating with his forced movements. He struggled not to drop the bottles in his hands. At once, Nil halted, his brown eyes wide with panic.
“Silco!” he whispered, Saif’s jaw falling open.
“Oh no. Oscar quit because of him!”
Luka squinted at the bickering men in confusion, still folding towels. Unfortunately for them, the two had switched to their native language the second Nil had entered the room. They wondered what the issue was. Something about Oscar. They had heard that much.
“Oscar’s probably in the Sump feeding the rats,” Nil mentioned. With a deep breath, he patted Saif’s shoulders and firmly stated, “Well, good luck, my friend. You will need it.”
“What?” he squeaked. “I’m not cutting his hair!” He nodded to Nil. “You cut his hair!”
“You do it! I’m your boss, you have to listen!”
“No way!”
Luka tongued their cheek, watching the two continue to argue. Did they not realise a client was waiting? Luka cleared their throat loudly and the men froze, heads swivelling to them. “Are either of you going to see our client, or are you just going to bicker like a married couple all day?” When the two only offered them a blank stare, they rolled their eyes and clutched a couple hand towels from a pile. “You both got me drove, you know that?” Pushing through the back room door, they dropped the irritation from their face and offered a well-practised smile to the stranger already sitting in a barber chair. An older, perhaps middle-aged man, slender in build and already caped up to go. “Hello,” they greeted. “Sorry for the wait.”
Nil and Saif gawked at the closed door in newfound horror.
“Does Luka know who Silco is?” Saif murmured. Nil shook his head.
“I don’t think so, Mickey’s been trying to keep them pretty sheltered.” And Nil couldn’t blame him. Luka wasn’t meant to live in a place like the Undercity.
“Oh, Janna.” Saif’s visage turned back to Nil. “Do you think he knows what Luka’s last wishes are?”
Luka flattened a towel over a wheeled tray and quickly plucked the tools they would need from the top drawer of Nil’s styling station. “Are you just getting a haircut today?” If he needed a shave too, they were going to have to go to the back and knock some sense into one of their coworkers. They wouldn’t even dare attempt it with their shaky hands.
“Yes,” a low voice answered gruffly.
“Great.” Gathering their brown hair into one hand, they twisted it upward and used a claw clip to pin it against their skull. “Do you want your hair washed first, or just spray it down?” They slipped a black apron over their head and sprayed a sanitizing agent on their palm, quickly rubbing it on both hands. Their new client seemed to mull this over for quite a few seconds.
“I’ll have it washed.”
“Understood.” They wheeled their tray over to their new client and reached behind them to tie their apron.
“Where is Oscar?” the man asked coolly.
Luka looked up to him in surprise, taking notice of a jarring feature on his face that had been mostly covered by his dark, shaggy hair. They immediately looked away as they felt their blood pressure drop, their vagus nerve having been triggered. “Um.” Not now. Don’t faint. Please don’t faint. It’s just an eye. It’s okay. They hoped they could play things off as them simply trying to remember, instead of attempting to soothe themselves in an effort to remain conscious. Quietly, they took a deep breath. “Oscar… quit, I think. Yeah, a few months ago.”
“I see.”
“Shortly after I started—“
“Where are the other two?” he interrupted.
“Uh,” they huffed a quiet laugh. “Arguing about something in the back, so I came out to serve you instead.”
A smirk formed on the man’s thin lips. He had a feeling he knew what they were arguing for. “How considerate of you.”
“I know I don’t like being made to wait, why would you be any different?” They noticed the cape around his neck was missing something important. “And Nil forgot to cape you properly,” they muttered, reaching for a sanitary neck strip and tugging it from the dispenser on the styling station in front of the mirror. Slipping behind him, they brushed his shoulder length hair out of the way and felt him stiffen ever so slightly at their touch. That was when they noticed how loose the cape was buttoned around his neck and how the high collar of his shirt hadn’t been folded down. At the discovery, they concluded that Nil might have had a reason for skipping the neck strip. “Ah, unless he caped you loosely on purpose?” They glanced up to his reflection in the mirror, focusing on his sharp sea green eye. The polar opposite of his left.
“Yes,” he answered, his voice suddenly rigid.
“Understood.” They crumpled the strip and shoved it into the front pocket of their apron. Stepping to roll the tray out of the way, they gestured to the sinks. “If you’ll follow me to the sink then, please.”
Nil squinted through a small crack of the partially opened door. Luka led the older man to the sinks, stopping by one and waiting for him to sit down. Their petite stature made him seem quite tall in comparison to Nil and Saif’s height. “Since when does he let anyone wash his hair?”
“Wouldn’t you let Luka wash your hair if they offered?” Saif countered, as if the answer was obvious.
Brow furrowing, Nil craned his head back from his knelt position on the floor. Saif stood over him, also peeking through the door. He frowned at the absurdity of their shared behaviour.
“Because you should. They’re good at it.”
“When did they wash your hair?” he whispered incredulously.
“A couple weeks ago.”
Luka shifted their weight to one hip, waiting for the water to heat up. “There we go.” Testing the temperature on their wrist once more, they adjusted the pressure through the spray nozzle and gently ran it over the man’s head. “Is the temperature alright?”
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“Great. Let me know if that changes.” They swept his hair back and risked a quick glance at his left eye before switching back to his hair. Perhaps if they continued to briefly look at it, their body would adjust and stop trying to black out. Exposure therapy was always recommended to combat squeamishness, right? Turning off the water, they opened the shampoo bottle and poured a dollop into their hand, reminding themselves to breathe. Emulsifying the shampoo in their palms, they scooped it over their fingertips and spread it through his hair, gently working it down to his scalp. They wondered what had happened to him. What kind of injury would cause one’s eye to change like that?
Another quick glance, and they massaged the shampoo on the sides of his head. From what they could tell, both eyelids had been almost entirely lost to atrophy, scars raking up and down the entire side of his face. Most of his eyebrow was gone and a large, scraggly patch of the skin around his eye had turned a dark, reddish purple. The mark stretched down to his cheekbone and up across his forehead, reaching his temple. Was that why he kept his hair long? It was a shame, he was still rather handsome, regardless of the injury.
Luka retrieved the water nozzle, flipping the tap to rinse out his hair. They glanced at the eye again, suddenly recognising that it reminded them of something. The sclera was charcoal grey, the distorted iris a furious orange that seemed to glow like fire around a charcoal grey pupil. Sagittarius A*. The supermassive black hole at the centre of the Milky Way galaxy. The Event Horizon Telescope had managed to capture it in a photo for the very first time a few years ago. As someone who had a fascination with space since they were a child, they found the feat to be truly spectacular. And his left eye looked exactly like it.
Turning off the water, they gingerly squeezed out the excess in his tresses and reached for the conditioner. Pouring it into their palm, they spread it over their fingertips and smoothed it through his hair, then switched back to massaging his scalp with care while they waited for the conditioner to soak. They noticed his right eye was closed, his sharp, angular features relaxed, breaths even and coming from his diaphragm. A small smile curved their lips. Hair washing was always their favourite part of barbering. Nothing was more satisfying than watching the stress dissolve from their clients’ faces. Giving someone a moment of peace from the outside world filled them with warmth, even if it was only temporary. And especially in a place like the Undercity.
Grabbing the nozzle, they flipped the tap for the water again and rinsed out the conditioner. Retrieving a towel from a shelf attached to the wall, they dried his hair, wringing out the excess water, and making sure not to forget his uniquely shaped ears. “Alright. You can get up whenever you’re ready.” As he stood, Luka dumped the towel in the hamper and followed him to the barber chair, picking up the scent of his aftershave. Musk, sandalwood, and something else they weren’t familiar with. Before he could lean back, they grasped the edge of the cape and guided it over the back of the chair. “So, what are we doing today?” They grabbed the wheeled tray, rolling it to their side and picking up a wide-toothed comb.
“Cut it all off.”
Their eyebrows shot up their forehead and they glanced to his serious reflection in the mirror. “Really?”
“I’m sick of it.”
They smirked in humour and began to comb through his hair, starting at the ends and working up to the roots. Again, they felt him slightly stiffen. Perhaps he wasn’t used to touch. “Fair enough. Was there a style you had in mind?”
He mulled this over for some time before regarding their reflection once more. “What would you recommend?”
“Um…” They placed the comb on the tray and carefully raked his hair back with their fingers, studying his reflection. Yes, he was definitely handsome and not in the typical, boring Hollywood way. They wondered if they would be able to convince him to choose a style that would show off his distinguished features. “It depends. Are you willing to style it, or do you want a wash-and-go cut?”
“I’m fine with styling.”
“Okay. Hm.” They tilted their head and smoothed the sides of his hair back. Now to see how persuasive they could be. “I think you’d look good with an undercut. Shaved short on the sides and back, with a bit of length on top.” They fluffed the top of his hair. “Can use a pomade to slick it back.”
“What is a pomade?”
“It would be...” They searched Nil’s station for the products he used and walked up to select a small jar. “This.” Unscrewing the lid, they showed the product to him. “It’s kind of like a… thick paste, I s’pose. This one is wax based.” They scooped out a pea sized amount on the back of their thumbnail. “It has fairly strong hold, but will keep your hair looking soft, not crispy, or shiny like gel.” He hummed in response, the sound deep and raspy in the back of his throat. They didn’t want to admit how the noise warmed their insides. “If you want that style, I can show you how to use it.”
“Yes.”
“Great.” That wasn’t difficult at all. They screwed the lid back on and plucked the neck strip from their apron pocket to wipe off their thumb. Tossing the strip in a trash bin, they returned to their spot behind him and pushed down on the foot pedal with their shoe. The chair lowered significantly. “I’m sorry if it feels like you’re sat on the floor, but I’m a little vertically challenged.” He grunted, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“It’s fine.”
They grabbed the comb from the tray and a couple clips to begin sectioning his hair.
“You never mentioned your name,” he pointed out.
“Oh, yes sorry. It’s Luka.”
“Luka,” he repeated lowly.
They swallowed silently and retrieved their clippers, again mentally chastising themselves for having a reaction to his voice. They grabbed a sanitizing spray and popped off the lid. “I’ll warn you now, this thing is loud, so if you speak, I probably won’t hear you.” They were aware that this most likely wasn’t his first time having clippers used on him, but the amount of times people still tried to converse with them regardless of its noise prompted the notification.
“Alright.”
With his confirmation, they flicked the power switch and the blades roared to life. Using the spray on the blades, they placed the bottle down, retrieved their comb and set to work. As much as they weren’t a fan of loud noises, they appreciated the excuse the clippers provided to avoid small talk. While Nil wasn’t as insistent on it as their instructors were in cosmetology school, they understood its importance for building clientele. They just weren’t good at it and their current client didn’t appear to be the chatty type to help lead the conversation. The first pass of the sides and back of his head were to remove the bulk of his hair. The second was for precision, fixing spots they had missed, making sure they maintained a somewhat rectangular-shaped silhouette.
Satisfied, they switched off the clippers and rested it on the tray. They glanced at his reflection to find him focused on them. Again, their eyebrows hiked up their forehead. “Oh, wow.” His brow furrowed and they mentally cursed themselves. Them and their big mouth. It was time to lean into it. “That’s already a huge difference. You have really nice bone structure.” He regarded them with apparent confusion, making them wonder how often he was complimented. Then again, men usually weren’t in general.
“You think so?” he asked, suspicion apparent in his tone.
“Absolutely. The long hair was dragging your features down.” When his green eye only narrowed at them, they decided to explain their reasoning in an effort to convince him. Closing their right hand, they gestured to the side of his face with the back of their fingers. Almost as if to caress his cheek, without coming into contact with his skin. “Now you can see the prominence in your cheekbones, which shows off your ovular structure. It’s very well balanced.” They held their hands beside both of his cheeks. “All that hair was closing off your face, making a lot of your features seem small and receded.” They pointed to the left. “If you turn your head to the side a bit.”
His head swivelled.
“With the hair gone,” they pulled their hands away and pointed to each area as they continued, “it pushes them forward, like your brow, cheeks, and your chin.” They hovered their finger underneath the length of his jaw. “And now you can also easily see your jawline, which, quite frankly,” they placed their hand on their hip, “is sharp enough to cut a man.”
A small puff of air escaped his nose in amusement, his right eye closing for a brief moment.
“You should be showing it off.”
His head straightened to consider their reflection. “I see.”
“So, I’d wager it was a good idea to go short. It suits you.” He grunted and they figured it was safe for them to grab and turn on the trimmers. After a spray of sanitizer on the blades, they tapered the perimeter of his hair, starting at his right temple and working their way around. They also carefully carved out the hair around his ears, using their free hand to protect each ear and bend the cartilage out of the way. Once finished, they turned off the trimmers and set it on the tray. Snatching their styling razor, they sprayed the sanitizer on the serrated blade and commenced cleaning his hairline, again starting at his right temple.
“What is that spray you keep using?”
“It’s a three in one,” they answered simply. “Sanitizer, lubricant, and coolant.”
“Why don’t the others use it?”
They shrugged, knowing that the real answer was due to Luka’s small obsession with cleanliness. Which had worsened since arriving here. “You would have to ask them that.” He hummed.
“Now you’re making me even more thankful you’re the one cutting my hair today.”
Luka huffed a quiet laugh, carefully folding down the collar to even out the perimeter around his neck and straightening the fabric after. “Nil and Saif are far more experienced than I am, though. And much faster.”
“How long have you been barbering for?”
“Officially? About three months. Technically, about ten years.”
His eyebrow twitched. “Why the large time discrepancy?”
“I graduated cosmetology school ten years ago.” They shifted to his left side to clean up his hairline. “Which, is different from barbering, mind you, but I did have a basic barbering course with it,” they explained. “I’ve been cutting hair on and off since then, but couldn’t get hired anywhere due to my lack of speed and later health issues.”
“Health issues?” he echoed with curiosity.
“Yeah. So… after coming here, I somehow got very lucky and Nil was willing to hire me.” They arrived at his left temple and squinted at the scarring. “Is your skin sensitive on this side, or will I be able to razor it?”
“It will be fine.”
“Okay. Just wanted to be sure.” Regardless, they exerted a little less pressure than they usually did. Setting the razor on the tray, they unclipped the remaining tresses on the top of his head. “Now, is there a length you’d like me to cut this to in particular, or?”
“You can decide.”
They hummed and pursed their lips, running their fingers through his hair, considering the possibilities. In truth, they quite disliked making such decisions. Sometimes the pressure was a little too overwhelming. Turning their head, but not taking their eyes off his hair, they called out, “Hey Nil.” A small crash came from the back room and they glanced up with bewilderment. What in the world was he doing back there?
“What?” he finally yelled, his voice muffled by the door.
“M’ere.”
“Why?”
Their face blanked at his question. He hadn’t hesitated to help them before. Sometimes he was almost excited to offer his expertise to them. What was different this time? “I require your assistance.” Plucking the comb from the tray, they directed their client’s hair back. “Today, please,” they muttered under their breath.
Eventually, Nil ambled out of the back room and cautiously approached them. “What?”
Luka noticed the odd rigidness in his robust frame, but decided not to comment on it. Instead, they mentioned, “I’m wanting a second opinion.”
“Okay,” he responded, his voice strained. His eyes quickly flicked to Silco’s reflection, not quite willing to meet the man’s mismatched eyes. Luka used their comb to direct Silco’s hair upward and to a slant.
“Should I cut straight across, or do a graduated cut?”
“Uh…” How Luka was so calm around him was beyond Nil’s comprehension. They were supposed to be the one with anxiety issues. It was obvious they weren’t aware who Silco was, but the energy he exuded alone should have been enough to alert them. They should have been able to sense that he was someone they needed to be wary of at all times.
“Nil,” Silco rasped.
Nil jumped to attention, his gaze shooting to the man’s reflection. “Y-yes, sir?” The corner of Silco’s thin mouth quirked, sending a chill up his spine.
“Luka asked you a question.”
Nil’s chest tightened and he felt sweat bead at the nape of his neck. Oscar was dead because he had messed up Silco’s hair the last time he was here. Nil hadn’t any proof, but no one had seen Oscar since he quit the day after the haircut. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what most likely happened. Silco had a reputation in the underground for a reason. He had for years.
“Are you going to answer?”
Now Luka was on the chopping block, utterly oblivious to who they were dealing with. And all Nil could do was stammer and babble like an idiot.
Luka let the hair fall from their comb, their eyebrows twisting up in worry. “Are you okay?”
“I, um,” he couldn’t bring himself to force the words out. First, the hair wash, now the drastic change in style. Was Silco setting Luka up on purpose? Was he giving them a reason for him to strike them down? Luka had barely been in the Undercity for four months. Had only started working for him three months ago. Sure, they couldn’t come in often because of their health, but they always tried to work hard when they showed up. They always made a difference. They were innocent. Too innocent for a place like Zaun. And now, Silco…
Luka dropped their comb on the tray and lightly touched their fingers to their client’s shoulder. “Forgive me a moment.” They reached for Nil’s arm and thankfully, he allowed them to turn him around. “Come on, big guy.”
“Luka, I—“
“No,” they cut him off and led him to the back room. “You’ve gone pale and your forehead is drenched in sweat. You need to sit down before you pass out.”
Silco twisted his head to follow the two, Luka partially closing the door. Still, he could see them guide Nil to a chair, only then being able to look each other in the eye without Luka needing to crane their head back. Their voice was quiet, but he could hear them,
“Jeet t’day?”
Nil nodded, understanding their accent enough by this point to know that they were asking if he had eaten.
“When? What about juice? When was the last time you drank somethin’?”
Nil shook his head and mumbled, Luka spun and disappeared briefly to return with some kind of food item. Again Nil shook his head and waved a hand at them.
“Eat it anyway.” Once more, they disappeared and reappeared with a glass of juice. Clean water was too expensive and difficult to come by down here. “Drink this, too.”
More mumbling from Nil.
“You’re workin’ too hard is what your problem is. Gonna run yourself into an early grave if you keep up this foolishness.” They pointed to somewhere in the room. “Saif, you babysit him while I finish here. I’ll need one o’ yas to run da till after.”
They exited the room and Silco directed his head forward, slightly amused by what he had witnessed.
“Both stunned like a bucket o’ rocks some days, I swears,” they grumbled. Clearing their throat, they reached for the sanitizer and sprayed their palm. “Sorry about that,” they apologized in a much lighter tone, rubbing their hands together. “Not sure what Nil’s after gettin’ into t’day.”
Silco’s head tilted to the side and Luka picked up their comb. Something had been on his mind from the moment they had started speaking to him. “Where is that accent from?”
They paused. “Um, same place as me.” A part of it, anyway.
“And where would that be?”
“A little country called Canada.”
He frowned at the odd name. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of it.”
“Strangely enough, no one ‘round here has. Down here, or topside.” Which boggled their mind, considering their home country wasn’t actually small by any means. The man hummed in acknowledgment and they gently guided his head upright. “Straight, please. I’m sure you’re probably tired of sittin’ in this chair already.”
“Have you decided what you’re doing, then?” he inquired.
“Yes.” They combed his hair back, then grabbed a spray bottle full of water. Protecting his forehead with one hand, they saturated his tresses with the other. Trading the bottle for their comb, they finally retrieved their shears as well. “All that matters now…” They plucked up a tiny chunk of his hair and directed it over his forehead, squinting at the mirror. “Is deciding how short I want to cut it.” They pinched the chunk at the arch of where his left brow would have been, drawing an imaginary line across his forehead to his existing right eyebrow. Then, they brought it up straight to see how much they would be removing. Flicking their shears into the proper position in their thumb and ring finger, they made the first snip. Pursing their lips, they nodded to themselves in satisfaction and began sectioning his hair to carry their guide to the back of his head. Time to get the show on the road and get their client out the door.
“Where is your country?”
“Um, in the northwest. On a different continent.” At least, that’s what they figured. They honestly didn’t know where the Undercity was in relation to a world map. They could only assume they were located somewhere in southern Europe, based on the weather and local accents, but they could have been wrong. Geography had never been their strong suit.
“How far north?”
They chuckled, “Enough where there’s snow for eight months of the year.”
“Eight months?” he repeated incredulously.
“Mind you…” They combed up a new section of hair. “Where I’m from specifically, it’s almost a desert, so we don’t get as much snow.” They quickly cut the hair and combed another section. “Gets bloody cold, though. Nothing like walking home from work and having your eyelids freeze shut.”
His brow furrowed. “They freeze shut?”
“Mm-hmm.” They nodded. “The air gets so cold that it turns your hair white. Burns your lungs with each inhale. Can get frostbite in a matter of minutes.”
“Why would anyone live there? It sounds inhospitable.”
They shrugged and reached for the water bottle to wet his tresses again, protecting his forehead. “I managed just fine for thirty-two years.”
He stared at their reflection in the mirror, recalling their earlier mention of only working at the shop for a few months. It seemed Luka had a newly discovered knack for perplexing him. “You’re thirty-two?”
Setting down the bottle, they flipped their shears into their fingers and combed the next section of his hair. “Yep. Not sure how I’ve survived this long, but here I am.”
His brow furrowed. “You are not thirty-two.” Hazel eyes lifted to him and they smirked. Focusing back on his hair, they asked,
“How old do you think I am?”
“Twenty-two seems more plausible.”
They scoffed. “Now that’s generous.”
“You look mid-twenties at most.”
“Well, thank you for the compliment.” It was always a nice ego boost when someone assumed they were younger.
“How long have you lived here, then?”
They shifted to his side to cross-check their work. “About four months.”
“Why here and not Piltover?”
“Um.” They couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. Snipping a few missed pieces, they replied, “I didn’t really have a choice. It’s just how things happened. I don’t exactly have the money to live topside, either.” They prayed he wouldn’t ask them to elaborate further. Regardless, he appeared to consider their explanation for a moment.
“Do you like it?”
They pursed their lips and considered their answer. “Well…” They hummed. “There are things I like and things I don’t like.” Their face relaxed. “Trying to get used to conveniences that I no longer have and my diet has been difficult to maintain.” They placed their shears on the tray and ruffled his hair to shake out the loose strands. “But, I will say I do enjoy the moisture in the air. The extra rain has been nice and…” they glanced to his reflection, “I know it’s a little controversial, but I prefer the lack of sunlight down here.” He grunted, the corner of his mouth twitching. “The different cultures have been very interesting, too. Piltover seems more… homogeneous and kinda boring. Whereas the Undercity is like a melting pot of sorts. It’s pretty cool.”
Stepping beside their tray, they collected the jar of pomade. “Alright.” Unscrewing the lid, they dropped it on the tray. “Instruction time.” They cleared their throat. “So, there’s different kinds of pomade. Wax based, water based, clay, and grease.” They presented the open jar to him. “I prefer wax based for its medium hold. Still allows for some texture and movement, while not being overly shiny or crunchy.” They raised their pointer finger. “But, feel free to experiment. Just because I like it, doesn’t mean you have to.” Closing their hand, they scooped up a chunk on the back of their thumb. “I’d recommend starting with a thumbnail sized amount. You may want more or less, it’s up to you.” Placing the jar on the tray, they began to rub it into their fingers. “You want to warm up the product in your hands first to make it easier to apply. Otherwise, you’ll get clumps.” Sliding behind him, they poised their fingers in the air. “Then, on slightly damp hair,” gently, they raked the pomade through his tresses, “you’re going to work it in to evenly distribute the product.” Glancing to the mirror for reference, they began to guide the hair up and back. “Then style it to your liking.”
Shaping the back into a tapered point, they pivoted to quickly grab a towel and approached the chair once more. “Simple as that.” Reaching for the water bottle, they sprayed a corner. “Let me get you cleaned up, then I’ll show you the back.” They unbuttoned the cape and began to wipe his neck, again carefully folding down his collar and readjusting it as they moved. “Did you have any questions?”
“No, you explained it well.”
“Good, good.” They smiled, wetting another corner of the towel with the spray bottle and cleaning the stray hairs from both of his distinctively shaped ears. They’d never mention it in fear of accidental insult, but his ears reminded them of a rat’s. In truth, they found it rather charming.
“Why don’t you use that brush the other barbers use?”
“Brush?” They peered up to his reflection before switching to the other ear. Was he always so full of questions? Their earlier assumption of him being quiet was clearly incorrect. “Oh, the big, fluffy one, right?” They nodded to said object on Nil’s styling stand.
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it.” They shook their head. “Traps the hairs in the bristles and you can never sanitize it properly.” He grunted in affirmation. “A towel, you can actually wash and remove the hair.” With the final corner of the towel, they sprayed it with water and shuffled to his side. “May I touch your face?”
He stared at them directly, fully taking in their features, focusing on their hazel eyes, framed with long, brown lashes. “And what if I say no, Luka?” he challenged, not expecting them to shrug casually.
“Then, I don’t?” Why he was suddenly trying to be antagonistic was beyond their reasoning. “If you want, I can get you a new towel and you can wipe your face yourself. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” Apparently satisfied with their answer, he nodded once.
“You may touch my face.”
“Thank you.” They smirked to show that they were unbothered by his attitude. “Close your eyes, please.” They noticed that only his sea green eye closed, confirming their earlier guess that his orange and black one lacked the ability. It made them wonder if he had any vision left on that side. Carefully, they wiped his aquiline nose and defined cheeks, shifting to his temples. When it came to his forehead, they shielded his exposed eye with their opposite hand curving over where his eyebrow would have been. “There, much better.” Stepping back, they searched for a hand mirror, finding one hanging on the side of Nil’s styling station. Retrieving it, they slid behind their client. “Now, let’s see if I can aim this right.” They lifted the mirror, attempting to tilt it to reveal the back of his head. “Can you see, or am I off?”
“I can see.”
“Acceptable? Yes, no, you’re fired?” they joked and watched the corner of his mouth twitch. They assumed that was probably the closest to a laugh they would ever get out of him.
“It’s good, Luka.”
“Great.” They set down the mirror. “Would you be interested in purchasing a jar of the pomade I used, or would you prefer to look for one on your own?” they inquired, their tone light to avoid sounding pushy.
“I’ll purchase one here.”
“Fantastic.” They smiled again and gently removed the cape from his person. “And you’re free to go. Thank you for your patience with me today.” They bowed their head, bundling the cape under their arm and mentioning, “I’ll let Nil know and he’ll ring you through at the front.” He nodded and climbed to his feet, while they swivelled on their heel and headed to the back room. “Hey, Nil.”
The man lifted his head, Luka appearing the same as they always did, albeit slightly more tired than usual. They nodded over their shoulder.
“I’m done. He wants a jar of the wax pomade too, please.”
He blinked at them in surprise. “He does?”
They nodded. “Mm-hmm!”
“Janna,” Saif murmured. “Luka, you must have a superpower; everyone seems to like you.”
An eyebrow hiked up their forehead and Nil stood from his chair to leave the room. “That’s a bit of an excessive claim, don’t you think?”
“Not if Silco’s involved,” Nil muttered to them in passing.
Luka frowned. Was that the name of their client? It hadn’t occurred to them to ask. How rude of them. He had gone through the trouble of asking their name and they hadn’t bothered. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be offended. Turning around, they dumped the cape in the hamper and walked to Nil’s station to begin cleaning up. Twisting the lid back on the jar of pomade, they squinted to Nil at the front of the shop and as they suspected, he had grabbed the wrong one for their client. He definitely wasn’t thinking properly today, leading them to wonder if he was coming down with a cold. They frowned and strode across the shop to the counter. “Nil.”
“Yep?” Again, his voice was strained.
“That’s the wrong pomade.” They showed him the jar they had used. “This one.”
“Oh. Right, you said wax,” he chuckled nervously, rushing to the product shelf and switching pomades. Returning with the correct jar, he placed it on the counter, catching Silco’s piercing stare. He swallowed.
“It’s a good thing Luka is here, isn’t it, Nil?” Silco rumbled.
“Uh, yeah,” he agreed, forcing a smile.
“Ah, it’s no problem.” Luka shrugged. “Simple mistake. I’ve done it myself.” They glanced to the coat rack by the large, arched window and noticed that it was empty. Swerving their head to their client, they asked, “Did you have a coat with you, or no?”
“I did not,” he answered, gazing down at them. He hadn’t realised how short they were and he wasn’t considered to be all that tall amongst the locals, either. The top of their head just barely surpassed his shoulder.
“Just wanted to make sure.” Without thinking, they gently touched the sleeve of his upper arm and smiled. “It was nice to meet you. Hope you have a good day.”
“You as well, Luka.”
Nil watched Silco stare after them, turning his head, while they ambled back to the styling station to resume cleaning up. That couldn’t have been a good sign. If he was anyone else, he would clear his throat to catch Silco’s attention. Instead, he could only wait awkwardly, genuinely worried for Luka’s future. Eventually, the man swivelled forward and pulled a money pouch from the pocket of his black trousers.
“Is he accepting new clients?”
He was half-tempted to say no, but decided to err on the side of honesty in the end, also subtly correcting an accidental mistake, “Yes, they are.”
Silco paused from tugging on the drawstring and grunted quietly with a single nod of acknowledgment. “I want Luka to be my barber from now on,” he stated with finality.
Nil started in surprise, his eyes wide. “Oh?”
“Don’t get rid of them.” He dug in the pouch for the appropriate coins.
“Uh, y-yes, sir.”
He placed the coins on the counter. “This is for the cut and pomade.” With a finger, he separated three coins. “This is their tip.”
Nil gawked at the golden hexes. It was a more than generous tip for a simple haircut. “Are you sure?”
“Do you doubt Luka’s worth?”
He stammered a few times before managing to answer, “Not at all.”
“Then make sure they receive it,” he instructed with menace, his right eye narrowing.
“O-of course.”
“Good.” Swiping the pomade, Silco sauntered out of the shop, the bell jingling over the door.
For the first time since the man had entered the building, Nil finally felt like he could breathe, letting out a wheeze of air. His gaze wandered to his employee, still seemingly oblivious to the potential danger they had just encountered. What was he going to do? Saif crept out from the back room, scanning the shop. “He’s gone, Saif,” Nil assured him. The younger man stood up, relief washing over his bronze features.
“Oh, thank Janna.”
Luka paused from sweeping to squint at the two. “What’s with the both of you today?” Saif approached them with a worried expression.
“Do you not know who Silco is?”
They cocked their head to the side. That name again. How would he know about it? “The silicone roofing company?”
Saif blinked at them. “The what?”
Unbothered, Luka returned to sweeping. “They make silicone roof tiles and other stuff. I think they’re an American company?”
He had no idea what they were talking about. What was silicone? And what was an American?
Nil shook his head in disbelief. “Mickey‘s really been sheltering you then, huh?”
Luka swept the hair into a dustpan and walked to dump it in the trash bin. “I guess? I don’t know.”
Nil stopped in front of them and they peered up to him quizzically. He pointed to the door. “That man… his name is Silco and he’s extremely dangerous.” He gently grasped Luka’s slender shoulders. “He wants you to be his barber.” Nil shook his head. “He’s never done this before, so I need you to be very careful with him. Be polite. Watch your tongue. Do whatever he says.”
“Okay,” they uttered with confusion. After their first experience with the man, they felt their boss’ warning was a little dramatic. “So, how I always act with strangers?”
Nil faltered and spent a moment to consider their words. “Well.” They weren’t wrong. Luka was shockingly well-mannered in comparison to most people. And it was genuine politeness, unlike the condescending tone most Piltovans employed. “I guess so.” He dropped his hands. “I just…” Should he tell them what happened to Oscar? Aware of how quickly their anxiety spiralled out of control, he decided to keep it to himself. He would tell Saif to do the same. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. There was a reason Mickey hadn’t mentioned anything about Silco to them.
Luka raised their brows, waiting for him to finish. “You just?”
He shook his head again. “Just be careful. Please.” He dug his meaty hand in his pocket, pulling out three golden hexes. Grasping Luka’s wrist, he dropped the coins in their palm. “Here. Before I forget and accidentally walk home with them.”
Luka gawked at the coins, then to Nil. “What?”
“Your tip, from Silco.”
Their mouth fell open. “I-I can’t accept this!” For a measly haircut? That they took far too long to do? Nil shrugged. “Did you ask if he’d made a mistake?”
“I did and he insisted.”
Luka regarded the coins once more. What the hell was Silco’s job where he could drop hexes on a barber? “Huh.” Considering where they were, maybe it was better that they didn’t know, especially if he had a reputation for being dangerous. If he did come back for a haircut, they would bring it up. He didn’t need to tip that much.