It’s usually around 1:15 when Seungcheol has his daily, premature midlife crisis. His shift starts at 1:00, and fifteen minutes is exactly enough time to decide he should go back to college and find a new job. The aerosol fumes go straight to his head, he arrives home each night with other people’s hair in his shoes, voice hoarse from feigning interest at old ladies’ gossip.

He’s in the middle of sweeping a puddle of hair from the floor—black, thin, unconditioned—when Seungkwan pats him on the shoulder. “Hey, can you take my 3:00?”

“Huh?”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes, “Like, my appointment. At three? It’s a dye job, maybe a quick trim. Just cover for me, okay? I’ve got a hot date.” He winks comically, and Seungcheol is positive he does not have a date.

“Sure, sure, whatever,” Seungkwan always gets his way in the end; it’s useless to argue. “I don’t think I’m booked then.” Really, he just wants to leave and do better things—anything. Beauty school could kiss his .

Seungcheol spends the next hour and a half re-stocking hair gels and giving some girl a bobbed style, and soon it’s 3:00 and Seungcheol is standing in the lobby with the receptionist. “Seungkwan told me you took his client, but I didn’t really believe him. He’s been asking everyone all day,” Mingyu says.

“Yeah, I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Well I hear,” Mingyu leans across the reception desk and lowers his voice, “this guy’s super particular about his hair. So you’d better not screw up.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Seungcheol fiddles with a pen on the desk, and after a moment the bell over the door sounds.

Mingyu’s smirk tells Seungcheol he knows exactly who it is. “Welcome to Shining Diamond Salon, do you have an appointment today?”

He’s tall and thin and has the face of a supermodel. And his hair—bleach blond, swept back into a ponytail. Seungcheol could swear up and down that he hates being a stylist, but he’d kill to get his hands on that hair. “Yoon Jeonghan,” the man smiles, “I have an appointment with Seungkwan.”

“Actually,” Mingyu types something into his computer, and the smirk on his face is wicked, “Seungkwan is currently out. Seungcheol here will be filling in for him today,” he claps Seungcheol on the back.

The man—Yoon Jeonghan—raises an eyebrow and gives Seungcheol a good once-over. “Sorry, but I asked for Seungkwan. He always cuts my hair.”

Seungcheol considers saying, ‘Well, not today,’ but he bites it back. “Seungkwan asked me to do it instead. He had to leave.”

There seems to be much deliberation on the other man’s part (and Seungcheol really doesn’t like when he bites his lip like that), but finally Jeonghan sighs. “I guess if he trusts you, it’s fine just this one time.”

He leads Jeonghan to his chair and drapes a black cloak over him. Seungcheol has never thought someone looked attractive in a barber’s cloak before, but Jeonghan comes pretty damn close. “Can you, uh, undo your ponytail for me?” He tries not to sound too eager.

“Sure,” Jeonghan takes out his hairband like it’s nothing, like how his blond locks fanning gracefully over his shoulders don’t do things to Seungcheol’s heart.

Seungcheol gulps. “Alright, what were you thinking of doing today?”

Jeonghan plays with the tips of his hair, “I was hoping for layers. And I wanna dye it brown. Like, medium brown.” Seungcheol almost curses just picturing it; he’s always had an unhealthy thing for brunettes. “Can you do that?” He says it coyly, like Seungkwan is the only one in the world who can cut hair.

“Of course,” he passes an experimental hand through Jeonghan’s hair, almost nervously. Instead of brittle, like bleached hair usually is, Jeonghan’s is smooth and silky. He can’t help but notice that it also smells amazing, in the least creepy way possible. “Is an inch good for a trim?”

Jeonghan nods, and Seungcheol is able to finally start working, finally able to work on the soft hair in front of him. He carves layers into it, carefully, sweeps it to the side. It’s an almost guilty feeling, having the potential to ruin something so pretty. But when Seungcheol lifts his scissors away and asks, ‘How is it?’ Jeonghan looks even better than before.

“Wow,” he says, “I’ll give you credit; you do know how to cut hair.” He pushes it back a few times and Seungcheol would dare say the cut is one of his best.

“I do work here,” It’s not meant as condescending, but Jeonghan laughs anyway.

Jeonghan selects a dye color next, and Seungcheol is utterly screwed at that point because the chestnut brown color will definitely look amazing on him.

And he could spend hours just talking to Jeonghan, brushing dye into his hair, asking basic things about his life. It’s the one time Seungcheol has abused his stigma of being a ‘gossiping hair stylist’ to get to know someone. He can see another stylist, Junhui, making suggestive faces at them when Jeonghan’s head is turned, but Seungcheol doesn’t care.

Perhaps the best part is when the dye has set in, and he rinses everything and takes a hair dryer to the finished product. And Jeonghan makes these contented little humming noises Seungcheol could listen to for the rest of his life (maybe he lies about how long his hair takes to blow-dry just to savor the moment longer).

Seungcheol’s not one to pat himself on the back, but Jeonghan is stunning. The brown brings out his eyes, and really, Seungcheol thinks he should be a Pantene model. When he turns the chair around, Jeonghan gasps thinly and doesn’t stop beaming. He takes his eyes away from the mirror to look at Seungcheol. “Do you like it?”

The stylist doesn’t know how to say yes without sounding too excited. So he says, “Yeah. You look really good, yeah,” and that may be worse than anything he’d considered saying before. His almost-blushing certainly isn’t masked by Junhui’s long wolf whistle.

Jeonghan kind of chuckles, and it’s disgustingly cute. “I like it, too,” He looks in the mirror again, nods, and says, “Thanks. You’re not half bad.”

He walks Jeonghan out to the lobby, and while Jeonghan’s paying, asks, “Better than Seungkwan?”

The newly-brunette grins and takes a lollipop from the jar next to them. The last thing he says before popping it in his mouth is, “Don’t push it,” and slips a generous tip into Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol thinks he just lost a part of his heart.

Three weeks pass and Seungcheol still hasn’t forgotten Yoon Jeonghan. All the hair he’s cut since has felt sub-par. But it was more than just his hair; he remembers Jeonghan’s confident smile, his witty remarks. He should have quit after that, ended on a high note, but for some reason he’s still stuck in the Shining Diamond Salon, slaving away over people’s heads that he wishes were Yoon Jeonghan’s.

And then one day, he and Seungkwan are cutting hair at their respective stations, and Seungkwan says, “You owe me, by the way.”

“I owe you? I just covered for you three weeks ago.”

“That’s the problem,” Seungkwan executes a rather aggressive snip of his scissors, making his client—Chen or Chin or something—flinch, “You freaking stole my client.”

Seungcheol is about to make some witty comeback when he realizes exactly which client they’re talking about. “Stole him?”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan seems to be snipping out of frustration, and his client certainly doesn’t look at ease. Seungcheol’s own client, Jihoon, keeps quiet and tries to hide a smirk. “One day Jeonghan’s all like, ‘Oh, Seungkwan, I’d never let anybody else touch my freakishly beautiful hair!’, and the next he’s all, ‘Sorry, man, but Seungcheol is way better. His scissors are magical and his is better than yours and—’”

“He said that? About me?” Now Jihoon is definitely laughing, failing to cover it up.

Seungkwan waves his comb around in the air for dramatic effect and almost clocks poor Chun on the head, “No! But he was thinking it; I could hear it in his voice.” He reaches for his spray bottle and unceremoniously spritzes water on Seungcheol’s face. “That’s what you get for stealing my client.”

An hour later, Mingyu tells Seungcheol he has a new appointment scheduled, under the name Yoon Jeonghan.

If it’s the first time Seungcheol’s ever dressed up to go to work, nobody’s counting. He knows he’s wearing an apron, knows he’ll end up with hair all over his clothes anyway, but he still dresses nicer than usual. He tells himself it’s not because of a certain appointment at 3:00.

Jeonghan walks in and he’s even more radiant than last time. He’s dressed sleekly as well, and Seungcheol hopes it’s not because of a date. His color faded in the last month, roots slightly blackened, but he still catches Seungcheol off guard with that smile and charming confidence. “Hello again,” he says, and it’s all Seungcheol can do to stammer out a weak, ‘Uh, hi.’

The man sits down in Seungcheol’s chair like he owns the place, which he might as well. Seungkwan at the neighboring station wastes no time in groaning, “Have you come crawling back to me, Jeonghan? Or was I not good enough for you?” He punctuates his words with harsh snips, making the Chinese boy in his chair sit deathly still. His words drip with sarcasm and Jeonghan doesn’t look the least bit guilty.

“I needed a change,” Jeonghan shrugs, and they both ignore Seungkwan’s sigh of, ‘So non-committal.’

“So, what did you want to do today?” Seungcheol finger-combs Jeonghan’s hair, just testing the waters. His layers have grown out slightly, but he still looks good. Too good. He’d much rather concentrate on how well-conditioned his hair is than Seungkwan next to him, repeating his question mockingly.

Jeonghan thinks for a moment, but it’s obvious he has a plan. “Well, a trim. And I’m thinking of dying it…” he pauses, like it’s some dramatic reveal (and maybe it is), “black.”

Black is good. Black is fine; Seungcheol can deal with it. At least, he’ll say he can.

He’s flanked on both sides today, with Junhui on his left and a put-out Seungkwan on his right, accusing Jeonghan of ‘cheating on him’ every five minutes. It’s at times like this when Seungcheol really wants to quit—he just has to finish doing Jeonghan’s hair first.

Seungcheol trims his hair perfectly, but maybe it’s perfect because it’s Jeonghan’s hair. Jeonghan laughs at his stupid humor and it makes the room feel brighter. He has fun styling Jeonghan; Jeonghan makes it fun.

And then he’s dying it black, so black it’s almost blue. And Jeonghan is telling him some stupid story and Seungcheol hangs on every word as he glazes Jeonghan’s hair with dye. He wishes he could see Jeonghan’s face clearer, because the way his eyes shine sometimes just makes Seungcheol smile.

After his last appointment, Seungcheol doubted that Jeonghan could look better than he did as a brunette, but it’s not the first time in his life he’s been proven wrong. Because Jeonghan looks amazing, and that’s an understatement. And Jeonghan knows he looks amazing, because when he asks Seungcheol, “Do I look good?” there’s that sparkle in his eye again.

“Of course,” Seungcheol definitely says that too quickly, “I mean, yeah.”

Jeonghan laughs like he’s having the most fun in the world, and Seungcheol wonders how he can do that when he has to pay for an expensive dye-job in a few moments.

It’s Wonwoo at the front desk this time. He sort of stares at Jeonghan, then something seems to click and he winks right at Seungcheol.

Jeonghan pays, and his mouth is on another damn lollipop again. And his hand stays on Seungcheol’s for much too long when he gives him a tip and says, “I’ll be back.”

He’s gone after that, and Seungcheol doesn’t care how much money he just made; he’s too busy praying for Yoon Jeonghan’s hair to grow faster so he can at least get a trim soon.

“Mingyu mentioned him,” Wonwoo’s voice is startling; Seungcheol forgot he was even there. “He said you were checking out his last time.”

“Mingyu needs to shut up more,” Seungcheol leans back on the desk like the wind was knocked out of him, “And his is pretty flat, but you know, so cute.” He certainly hadn’t meant to say that.

Wonwoo actually chuckles then, but Seungcheol can’t find anything funny. “You should ask him out.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” Seungcheol says, “because I don’t like him.”

Wonwoo just goes back to work. “Fair enough.”

Seungkwan lasts a week before the pot boils over, just like Seungcheol knew it would. He’s cutting Hansol’s hair—a regular of Seungkwan’s—when the snips get more aggressive and Seungcheol knows what’s coming. “How much did he tip you last week?” It’s nearly comical, how Seungkwan lets his frustration leak into his scissors.

“Who?”

“You know—Jeonghan.”

At that, his own client’s head picks up. His name is Jisoo, and he’s around Seungcheol’s age, if not younger, and Seungcheol almost clips his ear when he jumps like that. “Jeonghan? Wait, are you—did you dye his hair last week?”

“Yeah, I did,” Seungcheol says, then cautiously, “Do you know him?”

Jisoo laughs, “Oh, yeah, we go to the same University. It’s just funny—I said I liked his haircut and then the next second…Maybe I shouldn’t say.” A sly look creeps onto his face.

If Seungcheol isn’t intrigued, then Seungkwan definitely is. He stops cutting Hansol’s hair entirely, and Hansol spins his chair so they’re both anxiously awaiting what Jisoo has to say. “Well, now you’ve gotta tell us.”

“Fine,” Jisoo shrugs, like he would have said it anyway, “He just kept talking about you. About how you were the best stylist ever and all that. And he never compliments people. I dunno, I just thought it was weird.”

Seungcheol stands there in mild shock, until Seungkwan spritzes him with water. “I knew it! How much did he tip you? Tell me!”

“F-fifteen thousand won.”

Seungkwan and Hansol share a look, one that’s nearly devious. “This is haircut ion. He’s only tipped me, like, seven thousand before. He wants you, Seungcheol!”

“Shut up, he does not.”  Seungcheol’s embarrassed and still has an entire head of hair to cut (but Jisoo doesn’t seem to mind; he laughs along with the others).

That’s when Mingyu pops his head past in the room and says, “Oh, Seungcheol, just wanted to let you know. Next Friday at three you have a date—I mean, appointment—with Yoon Jeonghan.”

He doesn’t count down the days until Friday. Doesn’t cross them off on his mental calendar. Because it’s just an appointment and Jeonghan is just a professional client who just happens to have stunning hair and an even more stunning smile.

But when Friday actually arrives, Seungcheol is on-edge.

Jeonghan shows up a few minutes late, like he had every time, and Seungcheol doesn’t even care because Jeonghan is as stylish as ever and Seungcheol hates himself for noticing. “Long time no see,” Jeonghan smiles at him.

His hair looks the exact same as the day Seungcheol cut it, just pulled into a low ponytail. In the chair, he tugs on the elastic and lets the dark hair flow onto his back (and Seungcheol tries not to stare too much because Jeonghan is definitely tracking him in the mirror).

“Usually people wait longer than a week and a half between appointments,” Seungcheol says as he brushes Jeonghan’s hair out, “I mean, I’m not complaining,” Barely five minutes in and Junhui is already making ual faces at Seungcheol from the sidelines.

Jeonghan looks at himself in the mirror and says, “I guess I just wasn’t liking the black hair.” How could he say that? “I think it’s the style. I’ve had long hair forever, you know?” Seungcheol has a sinking feeling about Jeonghan’s next words, “So cut it off.”

Seungcheol’s mouth is probably hanging wide open. “What?”

“My hair,” Jeonghan swivels his chair to grin up at Seungcheol, “Cut it off.”

He’s never denied a haircut before, no matter how odd the style or color. But this is tempting; Seungcheol is almost positive it’s a sin to cut more than an inch of Yoon Jeonghan’s hair off. He says, “You mean all of it?”

“Not all of it,” Jeonghan is still smiling and Seungcheol wishes he wasn’t so weak for that smile. “Just to here.” He lifts his hand to his jaw, below the ear.

Seungcheol can’t say no; he’s pretty sure he’s not allowed to. He comes to the conclusion that Jeonghan is sadistic and just wants to torture Seungcheol. A few minutes later—after rinsing Jeonghan’s hair for the last time—his scissors hover a good six inches above the dark ends. His hands shake and he swears the room’s temperature just rose ten degrees. Because he really doesn’t want to cut Jeonghan’s hair off.

“Just do it or I’ll do it myself,” Seungkwan was eavesdropping, as usual.

“No, I’ll do it.” And before he changes his mind, he holds the hair straight and makes a clean cut. There’s no going back after that, but it’s okay; even if Jeonghan’s hair is different, he’s still Jeonghan—still witty and maybe perfect.

The dark locks of hair slide off the back of the chair and fall to the tiled floor like feathers. Halfway through, Jeonghan says, “I feel like I lost ten pounds,” and there is a lot of hair on the floor (hair he’ll probably cry about later when he has to sweep it up).

Then it’s over and Seungcheol completely forgets even cutting it, just as he’d forgotten every quick-but-painful shot in his childhood. And Seungcheol had been too busy worrying about the little details to picture how good it would look; the shorter hair curls a bit under his chin, framing his face perfectly. He looks older, but still beautiful. Seungcheol says it before Jeonghan can even ask—“You look really nice.”

He hears an obnoxiously sweet, ‘Awwww,’ from the back of the room—it’s probably Soonyoung from Shampoo Tech—and Jeonghan seems almost shy. “Thank you.”

Wonwoo’s words jump around in his mind: ‘You should ask him out.’ And suddenly, Seungcheol decides he can’t wait another month or so to see Jeonghan again. But he doesn’t say anything, not yet; he walks Jeonghan to the reception desk and just stands there, waiting for him to pay.

“Here’s your tip. It’s really good this time,” Jeonghan says, and that’s not money—no, that’s ink on a piece of paper that Jeonghan had written ahead of time, and it takes Seungcheol a while to recognize it as a phone number.

He slips the note into the pocket of his apron and says, “I was hoping for a monetary tip,” even though that’s not true at all and Seungcheol will probably frame Jeonghan’s phone number on his wall later.

“Then I’ll buy you dinner,” Jeonghan winks at him and he has to know what that does to Seungcheol’s head. Jeonghan is about to leave, but then adds, “Seungkwan’s right, you know. I’m pretty non-committal.” His hand finds Seungcheol’s arm, softly, just for a moment, “but I can commit to some things.” Seungcheol doesn’t know exactly what that entails, but he’d give anything to find out.

An hour later, Seungcheol is cutting someone else’s hair—a tall guy who smiles so much it’s intimidating—when his life flashes before his eyes. His brain jumps from moment to moment, like all the hair he’s ever cut is laid out before him. And he remembers every hellish second of beauty school so vividly that a shiver runs down his spine. Seungcheol is only pulled from his thoughts at the cold spritz of Seungkwan’s spray bottle on his face.

He has those same flashbacks a few days later, when he and Jeonghan sit down at their date (the first of many). Because as it turns out, beauty school was worth it. Every second.

Yay we made it! Ok but imagine walking into a salon and like Seungcheol’s just there, ready to cut your hair. It's really hard to picture him in this job, which was maybe why this was so fun to write. Also, I don’t really know much about how salons work, so I based this off the one in my own town; it’s a real flashy place. This was my SEVENTEEN debut fic and 10/10 would do it again. Hope you all liked it!