Snagg
The key turned in the lock with a quiet click, and Ralf pushed the door open. He stepped inside their apartment, his boots heavy against the floorboards.
He saw Marcus sprawled on the couch, a joint smoldering in the ashtray beside him, his half-lidded eyes barely registering Ralf’s presence.
“Heyyy, my Captain,” Marcus slurred, lifting a lazy hand. “You’re home early.”
“It’s seven-thirty. This isn’t early.”
Marcus shrugged, then chuckled to himself. “Time’s… like… subjective, you know?”
Ralf looked around. Scattered on the floor were loose sheets of paper, an empty pizza box, crumpled clothes, a half-eaten burrito. “What the hell is this?”
The younger man blinked. “This?”
“This chaos. This… lifestyle. Every damn day I come home from work, you’re either asleep, high, or making TikToks about late capitalism in your underwear.”
Marcus sat up, rubbing his face. His long, chestnut-brown hair fell across his eyes in messy waves. “I’ve been working on my thesis.”
“Right. While high on my couch.”
Marcus raised an eyebrow. “Your couch?”
Ralf pointed toward the hallway. “Get your shoes on, boy!”
“What? Why?”
“We’re going out.”
“I’m too high to go out.”
“You’re not too high for what I have in mind.”
The barbershop was small and industrial-looking, and it reeked of aftershave and freshly cut hair. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos of guys with old-school military cuts.
In the center stood John, bald, bearded, his arms covered in tattoos from wrists to neck.
He looked up from wiping his clippers. “Ralf! What’s up? Something wrong with the flattop I gave you yesterday?”
Ralf jerked his head toward Marcus, who stood behind him wearing a hoodie, his shaggy mop peeking out from under the hood like a rebellious halo.
“My partner needs a reset. Give him a decent haircut! A military high and tight.”
Marcus’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?! No way, Captain! You can’t be serious.”
John looked between them. “You sure he’s in on this?”
Ralf turned to Marcus, voice low. “If you want to keep living with me, you have to clean up. Starting now.”
Marcus stared at him. Then at John. Then at his reflection in the mirror—tousled hair, unshaven face, eyes red from smoke and late nights.
Slowly, he pulled off his hoodie and sank into the barber chair. “I swear, if I look like a potato—”
“You’ll look like a man,” Ralf said, taking a seat on the waiting bench, arms crossed.
John caped his client and brought the clippers to life. “All right, let’s do this.”
Marcus flinched as John tilted his head forward and ran the unguarded clippers up the back of his head. A cascade of thick brown hair tumbled down onto the cape.
“OMG,” Marcus whispered, watching the pile grow on his lap. “So much hair!”
“Well,” John said with a smirk as he changed angles and moved on to the sides, “you had a lot of hair for someone who clearly didn’t know what to do with it.”
After John had shaved the back and sides, he used different guards to gradually blend the shaved parts into the untouched hair on top.
Marcus swallowed hard, watching himself transform in the mirror. “I feel like a sheep.”
“A sheep?” John asked, now trimming the top down with scissors. “A sheep gets a simple buzz cut—the same length all over. You, on the other hand, are allowed to have a little texture.”
Ralf cleared his throat. “I think you should use clippers for the top as well. Use a #2!”
John put the scissors aside and took the clippers again.
“And make sure the back and sides are nice and smooth. Shave his face, too!”
“Will do!”
After John finished clipping the hair on top, he wrapped a warm, damp towel around Marcus’s face. After a couple of minutes, he removed the towel and applied a generous lather of warm shaving cream to Marcus’s jaw, cheeks, neck, and upper lip.
John then reached for his straight razor. With a steady hand, he began at the sideburns, drawing the razor in strokes that followed the grain of Marcus’s stubble. He worked methodically down each cheek, around the jawline, and carefully along the contours of the neck.
After the first pass, John reapplied the lather and made a second pass against the grain.
Then he went on to Marcus’s scalp. John applied another hot towel, wrapping it around his head. Once he removed it, he lathered the back and sides.
John resumed shaving, working meticulously and checking his progress by running his hand lightly over the skin to feel for rough patches. He reapplied the lather and made a second pass to ensure a perfectly smooth finish.
John whipped off the cape with a theatrical snap, and Marcus gazed at himself in the mirror. His hair was gone. His ears looked bigger. His jawline looked sharper. His eyes—still red—looked… clearer.
Ralf stood, stepped behind him, and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Now that’s better.”
Marcus exhaled slowly. “I look like I joined the Marines.”
“I don’t expect you to join the Marines, as I did at your age, but I do expect you to look like someone who’s ready to take himself seriously.”
John clapped Marcus on the shoulder. “Welcome to the clean side!”
They left the barbershop, and the cool evening air brushed against Marcus’s skull.
“I can’t believe you did that! What will my followers say?”
Ralf rolled his eyes. “You’ll have plenty of time to think about it tomorrow while you’re cleaning up the apartment.”
They walked in silence for a while. Then Ralf said, “You’d better get used to your new look.” He ran his hand over Marcus’s head. “I want you to go to John for a touch-up every week.”
Marcus groaned. “Is that really necessary?”
“Don’t talk like a teenager! Now that you’ve got a real man’s haircut, act like one!”
“Yes, Sir!”
