we're rebels, we rebel

The thing is, Bodhi likes his hair long. He always has. Since he was a teenager, he’d hate getting his hair cut because they’d just cut it too short. He wanted to tie it up with his sisters hairbands (until she just donated them all to him because her hair was too short to tie), into a ponytail, into a bun. 

Even when he was working at his first part-time job at a cafe he’d keep his hair long, despite his mum’s protests that he’d never get hired looking like that. His boss had been pretty easy-going and didn’t care how he looked, as long as he was clean and nice to the customers, he could look however he wanted.

So, Bodhi cuts his own hair now. He’d finally mastered how to do it himself when he got to UCL and realises his mum would no longer be there to pay for him to sort it out when the split ends got too much. So when it’s getting a bit too long and it feels like straw at the end, he’ll chop it to just above his shoulders and let it grow out again.

Cassian, on the other hand, hates having his hair too long. The thing is he also hates it too short. There’s a thin margin, Bodhi figured that out fast enough.

They’d somehow fallen into a pattern, Jyn calls it their “hair-cutting dates” and Bodhi just shrugs it off and rolls his eyes. Every first Thursday of the month Cassian would cook dinner and Bodhi would cut his hair. 

It’s nice, having a set date, keeps his mind on track. 

It’s April, when things change. The rain is pouring outside and Bodhi’s umbrella broke between his office and the tube station, so he’s now soaked from head to toe and he’s just really, really looking forward to a shower and bed. 

He shrugs off his coat and slams the door behind him, when he smells dinner coming from the kitchen and he remembers. 

“Cass” Bodhi asks, loud enough to be heard through the hallway. 

“In the kitchen,” is the response he gets. 

Bodhi trudges into the kitchen, dripping water everywhere.

Cassian laughs when he sees him, “You’re a mess.” 

“Don’t be so fucking rude,” Bodhi says, crossing his arms, but there’s a smile tugging on his lips. 

“Long day?” 

“The longest.” 

Cassian gives him a sympathetic smile, before flicking the tea towel at him: “Go get changed, dinner will be ready in 10.” 

“Ugh,” Bodhi says, kicking his shoes into the corner of the room, “You’re the best.” 

Barely twenty-five minutes later they’re sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table, Bodhi has a glass of red wine in his hand and the food is gone.

“Don’t drink too much,” Cassian says, eyes bright and smile wide, “I still need you to cut my hair.” 

Bodhi tilts his head slightly, watching Cassian carefully. “Do you?” 

Cassian furrows his eyebrows slightly and puts his wine glass down on the table. “Of course I do.” 

Bodhi kicks at Cassian’s shin gently, “I’m sure you can afford your own hairdresser, no?” 

“I only trust you,” he says, looking at Bodhi’s eyes. He stare is intense and heavy and the words almost take the breath from Bodhi’s chest. 

Now, they drive in the setting sun as if they’re racing it, which Neil guesses they kind of are. As soon as it all goes dark, the world changes: literally and figuratively. Monsters come out of the shadows on the hunt for anything they can get their hands on.

Andrew sighs, eyes still on the horizon, he takes a hand off the steering wheel and gently places it over Neil’s. He laces their fingers together on Neil’s knee, who instead just closes his eyes at the contact and rests the back of his head against the headrest. 

His heart is thumping in his chest, because although he’s doing what he’s been doing all his life, this time he doesn’t want to. His eyes flicker open, and he tilts his head to the side, watching Andrew watch the road. 

“Distract yourself,” Andrew says.

“Hmm,” Neil mumbles, squeezing their fingers together ever so slightly. The weight has lifted slightly from his shoulders somewhast and it’s almost as if he can pretend that this is normal. They’re driving back from Columbia, from the house, and towards Fox Tower.

This is just a normal day, Neil tells himself. He tries to convince himself of the fact and doesn’t let his eyes linger, instead traces his gaze around Andrew. His hair is tousled with twigs and leaves stuck in it from where they’d run through the woods. There’s dirt on his clothes, specks of it that he’d kicked up at himself as they moved. 

The cut on his eyebrow needs cleaning as soon as they get back to camp, the blood has dried around it and Neil just knows Andrew’s going to be a pain about fixing that up. 

There’s bags under his eyes, that have been there for the past three months. Never getting enough sleep, never getting enough rest, and never getting a break. 

Neil wonders what he looks like -- what Andrew sees when he stares at Neil in times like this. When it feels like the whole world is sitting on his shoulders, but he’s just barely keeping afloat. Like he could drown at any moment, suffocate under the pressure, and everything will come crashing down with him. 

Andrew squeezes his knee through their interlocked fingers and Neil drags his gaze up to his tired eyes. 

“Stop thinking so hard, Neil,” Andrew says, eyes flicking over to him and catching his eyes. 

“Can’t help it,” Neil responds, tearing his gaze away and looking out the window. 

“Look at me,” Andrew says, even though he’s gone back to looking at the road. “There’s nothing of any interest out there.” 

“What, and you’re more interesting?” Neil says. 

“More interesting than what’s out there anyway.” 

Neil shrugs, looking back at Andrew nonetheless. “Some people would disagree with you there.” 

“You’re not some people, Neil.” 

Sighing, Neil nods and watches Andrew as he wins his race with the sun, making it back to camp before the night stars shine bright and the monsters come out of hiding.