Chapter Text
“Do you trust me?”
Sol eyed the blade in Arcade’s hand warily. Trust was a big word and that was a loaded question. He would’ve put his life in his hands, let Arcade carry him through fire.
Sol looked back up at him, willing his jaw to loosen, his shoulders to relax.
“Y-you threatened t-t-to tie me up.”
Arcade merely sighed and ran an idle finger over the metal. “Don’t tempt me. Look, all I need is ten minutes and it will be over. This will be much easier if you cooperate.”
He knew he was bluffing. He wouldn’t dare.
Sol took a defensive step backwards, his elbow knocking into something warm and solid. He jumped and it moved away.
“What are you arguing about now?”
His heart dislodged from his throat as he blinked at Boone.
Arcade answered before he could force his mouth to move. “I’m just trying to make all of our lives easier, but he’s being petulant.”
Petulant. As if he were a small child throwing a tantrum. The word went down thick, clumping in his stomach with the growing embarrassment that threatened to come back up.
Boone stared blankly at Arcade for one second, two, then at the blade. He turned to Sol, silent.
The room became overbearing, too many eyes expecting too many things.
“Fuck off.”
Sol brushed past Arcade into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. It echoed in the small space, far too close to a slam. Maybe Arcade was right.
Minutes passed and he was left alone in the silence with his nausea inducing thoughts, save for shuffling in the hall. Occasional frustrated whispers he couldn’t make out floated by. He didn’t acknowledge the quiet knock that eventually came.
“Can I come in?”
Boone.
“Fine.”
The door opened and shut, the other sniper carefully keeping his distance.
Sol swallowed. “What?”
“He thinks he’s being helpful.”
“I … I know.”
Boone reached in his pocket and tossed something to him. Sol easily caught it, turning it over in his hand.
The blade to Arcade’s hair clipper.
“Why won’t you let him cut it?” It wasn’t accusatory or judgmental, only curious.
He had too many answers to that question, none of them able to form in his mouth.
Because he was stubborn. Because the vibration of the clippers was nails scraping over his scalp, pressing into his skull. Because it screamed and growled in his ears. And maybe because it tore something open in the back of his psyche, a memory that slipped through his fingers like water, of a sound far more threatening on a weapon far more deadly, held in the hands of someone he’d loved. Someone he’d loathed. Someone he had trusted.
Sol shrugged and Boone didn’t push, always understanding far more than he let on. Or he was simply able to read Sol in the same easy way he read the wind as he lined up a shot. Both, possibly.
“Gannon’s right though. It’s a hazard in your eyes like that.”
Sol self consciously pushed the dark hair out of his face. The moment he removed his hand, several strands fell back into his vision.
He half expected Boone to laugh at him, but he tilted his head, studying him. “You could grow it out, keep it tied back.”
It wouldn’t have taken long to get it to that point. It was already brushing the tops of his shoulders.
“No - I. Don’t want to do that. It- I just-“
“Ok.” Simple as that. “Are scissors better?”
Sol rubbed at his neck before shaking his head. “I-I don’t need-need a stranger putting sharp things that close to my face.” He didn’t need a stranger putting their hands on him, period.
Boone rummaged around in the cabinet, producing a small pair of scissors. “I can do it.”
The look Sol gave him must have been more skeptical than he had meant, Boone huffing a small laugh. “Used to do my own before I joined up. Won’t be professional, but shouldn’t be too bad.”
Sol glanced at his own reflection, the mess of black hair covering half his face, the back teetering on the border of mullet territory.
“I guess so.”
It wasn’t until he had Sol sitting in front of the mirror, towels tightly wrapped around his neck to prevent the near painful sensation of tiny hairs falling inside his shirt, that Boone finally set his sunglasses on the edge of the sink. Their eyes met briefly in the reflection and Boone’s lip twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. Sol exhaled, and Boone set to work.