Silas stands at the window, his reflection fractured in panes, the black side of his lopsided cut brooding above his brow, the pink side a wild curtain over his ear. The shop feels both new and haunted, like a stage awaiting its actors. He fingers the handle of a dagger, wondering if he’ll ever fit in here, in a town where every man wears his colors boldly and his heart on his sleeve.
Milo[/@ch_2], a lean man with a riot of lime-green spikes and a mischievous grin, steps in. Sunlight catches on the daggers and jars of dye as Milo surveys the place, the energy between him and Silas charged with possibility.]
"You must be the new guy,"[/@ch_2_d] Milo says, sliding onto the barber chair. [@ch_1]Silas nods, nervous but determined, bracing his dagger with a practiced hand. The air hums with anticipation as petals are crushed and color is mixed. "Go wild. I want something no one’s tried before."[/@ch_2_d] [@ch_1]Silas grins, his hands steadying, as he shapes an asymmetrical slash of blue through Milo’s spikes.
"You know, people say you cut with daggers, but this is art,"[/@ch_2_d] Milo teases, warmth in his tone. [@ch_1]"It’s just hair. And maybe a little danger,"[/@ch_1_d] Silas replies, wiping dye from his hands. Milo lingers, asking Silas about his past, about the lopsided cut. [@ch_1]Silas admits it’s his own work—a statement and a shield.
Rafe[/@ch_3], a tall man with crimson curls, glances at Silas’s daggers, his eyes narrowed.]
[@ch_3]"Some folks say you’re reckless,"[/@ch_3_d] Rafe muses, watching Silas slice through lavender locks. [@ch_1]"I just want to make a living. Maybe a few friends,"[/@ch_1_d] Silas answers, feeling the tension. Milo jumps in to defend Silas, sparking a back-and-forth about what makes a good barber—precision, artistry, or pure bravado.
"You ever think you’ll find someone to match your colors?"[/@ch_2_d] Milo asks, his voice soft. [@ch_1]Silas hesitates, heart thudding. "Maybe I already have," he says, risking a glance. Milo smiles, and the moment stretches, fragile and electric as dawn.
[@ch_1]"Forst and Shear is more than a shop now,"[/@ch_1_d] Silas whispers, voice rough with emotion. Milo rests a hand on his, their dyed fingers intertwined. In the glow of neon, Silas sees himself not as an outsider, but as a craftsman, a friend, and maybe, finally, a lover.
