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Challenge 7

Title: Hairdressing
Author: Deborah
Rating: G
Pairing: Mark + Roger
Summary: Just where did Roger get that hair cut?
Notes: There’s this bit in the commentary, when Adam Pascal and Anthony Rapp talk about how their hair looks in one scene. And this is sort of inspired by… that. Yeah.
Disclaimer: Rent is Jonathan Larson’s

Mark’s toes hurt. The soles of his feet hurt, too. He awoke from the pain, more conscious of everything below his ankles than of any other part of him. Mark moaned, unable to puzzle it out, then the penny dropped and he pulled his feet up under the covers.

He tried to get back to sleep after that, but eventually gave up and wandered out into the loft. As he opened the door, Mark felt pushed and pulled at once as cold rushed in and the air he now found warm, heated from being enclosed with his body and breath and farts for ten hours. He wandered towards the hot plate, patting Roger’s shoulder when he passed the couch.

Roger grunted softly and raised his head, shifting a solid mass of hair. Mark glanced back at him. It had been almost a year since Roger left the loft, and that was during his shaggy phase. He had torn his clothes when April… after April, but his hair had just gone on growing, and now Roger was a veritable moptop.

“Gotta do something about that hair,” Mark said.

Roger laughed. It was like his grunt, and his speech lately, too much air, not enough tongue, not enough teeth, not enough glottis, like he didn’t remember how to make English sounds. “Yea, Mom,” he said. His lips touched, but the final m was not pronounced. “I’ll do it.”

“You can’t cut your own hair.” Mark slurped the dregs of a pot of coffee and pulled a face. It was beyond tepid, beyond cooling. It was cold. It was chilling, and tasted old, like it had been made hours and hours prior. “Especially not if you’ve been up all night.”

“I have,” Roger confirmed. Mark glanced at him, surprised. He wasn’t used to Roger answering all his questions. Usually it was a monologue. The corners of Mark’s mouth twitched into a smile—then, very suddenly, Roger got up and left the room.

Mark’s smile slid into the sickly grime that passed for coffee. He had blown it. He had done something, some little thing. Was it that smile? He hadn’t been laughing at Roger, but sometimes, well, Mark knew Roger wasn’t always the most rational person.

And then Roger was back. He dropped a towel and a pair of scissors in front of Mark and said, “Do it.”

Mark looked up at him and managed a spastic, “Huh?”

“Cut my hair. Please. I don’t like it.”

Mark wasn’t sure what to think. Was this a game? Was Roger going to laugh because Mark fell for it? Was this retribution? But with all these questions, Mark just stood up and wrapped the towel around Roger’s shoulders. He hesitated just a moment, gently rubbing Roger’s shoulder, feeling how gentle and warm living muscle felt. Then Roger said, “Ow,” softly, and Mark stopped.

“Sit down. I’ve never done this before, so don’t blame me if it looks like crap.”

Mark hesitated. He fluffed Roger’s hair with his fingertips, felt a tingle of nerves in his chest, then grabbed a hank of hair and snipped it off.

“You’re gonna have the worst haircut in the world,” he said.

And Roger said, “People will think we’re twins.”

It was so long since he’d heard Roger make a joke, for a full minute Mark didn’t think to laugh.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Jun. 21st, 2008 06:40 am (UTC)
btw, I LOVED this. A LOT. <3
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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