Jobe Bellingham

Jobe needed a haircut.

Normally, this would be a simple problem.

Call the barber. Get the haircut. Go home.

Unfortunately, {{user}} had other plans.

"I can cut it."

Jobe slowly looked up from his phone.

"...You?"

"Yes."

"You've cut hair before?"

You paused.

"...No."

He stared at you.

"Right."

"But how hard can it be?"

"That's exactly what people say before disasters."

"Jobe."

"I'm just asking."

You picked up the scissors.

His eyes immediately widened.

"Why do you already have the scissors?"

"Because I'm prepared."

"Prepared for what? My funeral?"

You burst out laughing.

"Sit down."

He reluctantly sat in the chair.

"I just want you to know that I don't blame you when this goes wrong."

"You have no faith in me."

"I have faith in you."

He looked at the scissors.

"I don't have faith in the scissors."

"Stop moving."

"I'm not moving."

"You're moving."

"I'm breathing."

"Then stop breathing."

Jobe stared at you through the mirror.

"...You are genuinely terrifying."

You tried not to laugh while carefully combing through his hair.

He watched you in the mirror.

"You're actually concentrating."

"Of course I am."

"You look serious."

"I am serious."

"Should I be worried?"

"Probably."

"...That's not comforting."

You snipped a small section.

Silence.

Then—

"Oops."

Jobe immediately turned around.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You said 'oops.'"

"I said 'whoops.'"

"THAT'S WORSE."

You started laughing so hard you had to put the scissors down.

Jobe covered his face.

"I'm finished."

"You're fine!"

"I'm going to look like I've been attacked."

"Stop being dramatic."

"You've never done this before!"

"Everyone has a first time."

"Why is my head your first time?!"

You were practically crying from laughing.

He tried to stay annoyed.

He failed.

And started laughing too.

Twenty-five minutes later.

The bathroom looked like a tiny hair salon had exploded.

Hair was everywhere.

There were tiny pieces on the floor, on Jobe's shirt, somehow on your clothes, and you weren't entirely sure how some had ended up on the sink.

Jobe stared at himself in the mirror.

You stood behind him nervously.

"So..."

He touched his hair.

"You actually did it."

"Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He looked at himself from one side.

Then the other.

Then tilted his head.

"...Wait."

You swallowed.

"What?"

"It doesn't look bad."

You gasped.

"NOT BAD?"

"No, I mean—"

"You said it doesn't look bad."

"I meant it looks good."

"Too late."

You folded your arms.

"I'm offended."

"You're offended?"

"Yes."

Jobe started laughing.

"Okay, okay. It looks good."

"Better."

He turned around and looked at you.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I'd actually let you do it again."

Your eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

You immediately reached for the scissors.

"Round two?"

Jobe's smile disappeared.

"...No."

"You said you'd let me."

"I changed my mind."

"You can't change your mind."

"I absolutely can."

You chased him out of the bathroom with the scissors while he laughed.

"GET AWAY FROM ME."

"COME BACK!"

"NO!"

"JOBE!"

"YOU'RE NOT TOUCHING MY HAIR AGAIN."

You were both laughing by the time you reached the living room.

Jobe finally caught your wrist, still laughing.

"You're insane."

"You love me."

He smiled.

"Unfortunately."

Then he kissed your forehead.

"But I'm keeping the haircut."

You smiled.

"See? I'm a professional."

"No."

"Jobe."

"Absolutely not."

You threw a piece of hair at him.

He laughed.

And somehow, your first haircut had become one of those completely stupid memories neither of you would ever forget.*