#averagefujoshi

“I’m not gonna come sit with you at your damn hair appointment.”

“Just come sit with me, asshole,” Ymir grumbled, gesturing to the door again. “It’ll only take like, an hour.”

“Why the fuck does it take an hour to do your hair?” Jean snapped. “It always looks the same!”

“This coming from the asshole who has had the same long hair for what, two years now?”

“Yeah, and it takes about ten minutes at the barber’s,” Jean insisted.

“Yeah, and that’s why you always have to have Sasha fix it afterwards because it always looks like shit.”

“And yet it never takes an hour.”

“Look, Jean,” Ymir sighed, rubbing her eyes in frustration. “Christa usually comes with me, okay? But...”

“But what? Christ, you guys aren’t having problems, are you?”

“Fuck no!”

“Thank God, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack!”

“No! I’m gonna ask her to fucking marry you, you dickwad!”

Jean froze. “Really?”

“Yes, really, and I have this whole fancy dinner shit planned for tomorrow and I want to look nice so I’m getting my hair done but Christa can’t come because it’s obviously a surprise but I don’t want to go alone so for the love of God, would you just come to my goddamn hair appointment with me?”

“But-”

“Okay. You know what? I didn’t want to pull out shitty tricks. But I’m resorting to shitty tricks.”

Jean narrowed his eyes. “What shitty tricks?”

“My hairdresser’s hot.”

~~~

So Jean was sitting with Ymir while they waited for her hairdresser to finish his last appointment.

“I hate you.”

“You say that like, twice a day. It’s lost meaning.”

“I mean it this time.”

“You haven’t seen Marco yet.”

“...So that’s his name? Marco?”

“Yup,” Ymir said, flipping the page of a magazine nonchalantly, though her smirk gave away that she was eating up Jean’s curiosity.

And he really didn’t want to give her the satisfaction, but he only lasted like, ten seconds before he asked another question. “What is that, Italian?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ask him?” Jean scoffed. “What am I supposed to do, shake his hand and say, ‘Hey, Ymir’s  hairdresser, I’m Jean, are you Italian?’”

Then there was laughter. “Actually, I’m German.”

Mother fucking shit. Jean seriously considering running out of the salon as fast as humanly possible, but he couldn’t really bring his legs to move. He forced himself to look up, anyway, and made eye contact with one of the most devastatingly attractive guys he’d ever seen. Fuck, fuck, fuck...

“Well, half, on my mother’s side, anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I’m Marco.”

Jean stood up, trying to put aside the crippling humiliation he was feeling, and shook Marco’s hand. “J-Jean.”

“Nice to meet you, Jean,” Marco said with a smile that belonged in toothpaste ads. Wow, that was a shit line. Then he turned to Ymir. “Ready?”

“You better not make me look stupid,” Ymir grumbled, tossing her magazine back on the coffee table and standing up. “There’s an engagement on the line.”

Marco’s eyes went wide in delight. “You’re proposing to Christa?”

“Yes, and her answer entirely depends on whether my hair looks okay.”

Marco laughed. “Alright. One wife-winning haircut, coming up. Have a seat.”

Marco then started talking to Ymir about what exactly she wanted, but Jean wasn’t paying attention in the slightest. At first, he was still trying to get over his initial blunder, but then he just couldn’t stop staring at Marco, because he was really, really attractive. Jean watched the way his lips formed his words as he spoke, the way the skin around his eyes crinkled as laughed, his big hands running through Ymir’s hair as they discussed length and color and whatever else shit people talked about at hair appointments. He was just so pretty.

“Alright, I’ll get the color mixed and be right back,” Marco said before walking into the back room.

“Well,” Ymir said casually, “what’d I tell you?”

“You didn’t tell me he was that hot!” Jean complained.

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry that he’s too hot,” Ymir said sarcastically. “Next time I’ll set you up with someone uglier.”

“Ymir, I can’t go for that,” Jean said. “He’s way out of my league!”

“Not necessarily,” Ymir said. “For one, you’re not as ugly as you seem to think.”

Jean opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or not.

“And second, I don’t think Marco’s standards are as high as they could be. I met his last boyfriend once.”

“Boyfriend? So he is gay?”

“Well, shit, Jean, did you really fucking think I was gonna set you up with a straight boy?”

“I thought maybe his sexuality was ambiguous-”

“Nope. He’s hella gay.”

“Are you guys talking about me again?” Marco asked as he came back with Ymir’s color all mixed. Jesus Christ, is this just going to happen over and over the entire appointment?

“Yes, because you’re the only gay one here,” Ymir said sarcastically. “Isn’t that right, Jean?”

Jean immediately felt his face burn red. “Ymir!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul,” Marco said, clipping up the top half of Ymir’s hair out of the way. Once that was in place, he crossed his heart for emphasis before he started painting Ymir’s hair with the weird goo stuff that was apparently her color.

“Hey, Marco,” Ymir piped up, “you got any appointments after me?”

“Actually, I don’t!” Marco said. “You’re my last one for today.”

“Thank God, would you do something about Jean’s hair while we’re here?”

“Ymir!”

Marco laughed. “I think his hair looks very nice.”

Jean’s heart fluttered. Really?

Ymir scoffed. “Don’t lie just to be nice. It would look a lot better shorter.”

Marco thought about it a moment. “It would look good short, too.”

“There you have it, Jean,” Ymir said, making eye contact through the mirror. “A cute boy says you’d look good with short hair. Will you please cut it now?”

“Who usually cuts your hair?” Marco asked, sparing a mortified Jean from responding to Ymir.

“I usually just go to SuperCuts,” Jean mumbled, usually defensive of this practice but suddenly embarrassed about it.

“Yeah, and then he has to have one of us fix it every time,” Ymir snapped.

“If you want, I can just give you a trim,” Marco offered. “Clean it up a little but still keep it long.”

“That’d be great!” Jean said, a little too eager about the idea of having those long fingers running through his hair.

“Perfect,” Marco said with a grin. Shit. That smile. What’s he cutting hair for when he could be in ads?

~

Okay. So Jean said that Ymir always looked the same, but even he had to admit, she looked really good after this appointment.

“Just let her try to say no to that,” Marco said as he finished styling it with a “veil” of hairspray, as he called it.

“Dude, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” Ymir said, blatantly admiring herself in the mirror. “I look fucking awesome.”

Marco turned to Jean and smiled. “You next?”

“Yes, fix Jean,” Ymir said, still staring at her hair.

“Okay, then get out of the chair, fuckface,” Jean grumbled, half excited and half dreading this. He wanted more time with Marco, but fuck, with Ymir cracking jokes at his expense like this, it might be ruining his chances more than anything.

Jean took Ymir’s place in the chair, and watched himself blush in the mirror as Marco adjusted the chair.

“Okay, so any specific instructions or should I just follow my muse?”

“Um, go for it, man,” Jean mumbled, far too distracted by Marco fluffing out his hair.

“You’ve got really nice hair,” Marco said, sectioning off some of Jean’s hair before diving right in with the scissors. “You use any special shampoo or anything?”

“N-no, just Head & Shoulders,” Jean admitted. Should I be using special shampoo? Fuck.

Marco nodded. “I hate to get all salesman-y, but we do have a sale on some really quality shampoos right now,” he said. “Your hair already looks great, but with the right product, you could be devastating.”

Jean felt like his face was about to catch on fire. “O-okay, sure.”

“Plus, it smells really great,” Marco continued. “Your boyfriend’ll probably love that.”

“I-I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Holy shit, he wants to know if I have a boyfriend. Holy shit.

“R-really.”

“Wow. Would you like one?”

“Christ, Marco, keep it in your pants,” Ymir said, rolling her eyes.

Ymir, I swear to shit, shut the fuck up.

“I’m just kidding,” Marco laughed, swiveling Jean to face him as he attacked his bangs. Dude. Don’t kid. Date me. Holy shit. Jean tried to laugh it off (sounding unfortunately nervous), but it didn’t help that Marco was actually facing him now and not just looking at him through the mirror.

About ten minutes of awkward banter later, and Marco finished.

“Whoa.”

“You like it?” Marco asked, grinning and running his fingers through the ends to double check that it was even.

“You look like fucking Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle,” Ymir deadpanned, clearly still a fan of short hair.

Jean, however, was undeterred. “Holy shit, I do!”

Marco laughed. “Hopefully that’s a good thing.”

“Absolutely, Jesus Christ.”

Marco smiled. “I like that movie. I haven’t seen it in ages, though-”

“Maybe we could watch it together!” Jean blurted out. Fuck. Fucking hell. Why do I say things. Fuck.

“Maybe we could,” Marco said with a wink. Holy mother of shit.

Marco brought the two of them back to the front counter to ring them up. Ymir’s haircut, as good as it looked, surely didn’t merit such a high bill (then again, Jean didn’t know shit about this kind of stuff), but Marco didn’t charge Jean anything.

“What? No, dude, I gotta pay you.”

“Don’t worry about it!” Marco said. “It was just a trim.”

“Can I at least tip you?”

“Honestly, it was fun cutting your hair,” Marco insisted. “Just stop going to SuperCuts and we’ll be even.”

Jean bit his lip to try and fight the smile that forcing itself onto his face. “Yeah, okay, deal.”

“Alright, Ymir, I will see you in six weeks. Can I put you down for an appointment, Jean?”

“Oh, uh... H-how about next week?”

Marco raised his eyebrows. “Next week?”

“M-maybe I will go shorter after all...” Jean said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. I really hope he doesn’t realize it’s just a ploy to get to see him again. Then again, I really hope he realizes that it’s just a ploy to get to see him again.

“Alright. How’s Friday?”

“Friday’s perfect.”

“Could that appointment possibly be followed by dinner at my place and a special showing of Howl’s Moving Castle?” Marco asked, cool as a cucumber and not even looking up at Jean as he clicked through the schedule on his computer.

Jean felt like he was about to have a heart attack. “S-sure! Yeah, sounds great!”

“Lovely,” Marco said, typing something into his calendar before turning to grin at Jean. “It’s a date.”

“O-okay!” Jean said, grinning stupidly.

“C’mon, you idiot,” Ymir said, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the salon. “Thanks, Marco!”

“No problem!”

Just as they were out the door, Jean suddenly remembered. “Wait, I was going to buy shampoo!”