They worked, Oliver did nails, oval shapes here and coffins there. Nude colours and brazen neons for holidays. Chris did hair, straight and curly, wavy and permed. He did drastic cuts and pixie cuts and wolf cuts. 

They didn’t discuss the incident. 

Anya had gone back to work even when she thought she wouldn’t, she strutted the stage, she sang, she danced, she even did numbers crawling on her perfectly manicured hands and her knees. She wore herself out working hard, she wanted to make up for what she did but she couldn’t so she did what she did best and she commanded that stage like it was a German Shepherd ready to pounce. 

Anya laughed loudly, she spoke with confidence, she made the crowds gasp and laugh where appropriate. She made them aww at cute comments and comment in awe of her performance. She worked hard. And she was tired. But on she worked. 

Oliver wanted to make up for what happened and all he could think to do was to work and to never eversay something like that on stage or personally again. Even if the woman was wearing a veil and ‘bride to be’ was scrawled across her chest on satin. 

Chris watched him in his mirror, his customer just wanted a plain old straight blow dry so he let his mind wander. He thought about how hard Oliver was working, how hard Anya was working and how to calm both of them down. He thought about grabbing him and kissi- no, no. “Those are not appropriate work thoughts” he wordlessly admonished himself. 

He thought instead about grabbing him and telling him to slow down, ease up and to relax. He thought about bringing him on, what could to the casual observer be, a date where they could drink too much, eat too much and blow off some steam. Yeah. That was a safer idea. Safer than the kissi- He hissed suddenly, he had stalled and smacked himself in the hand with the hair dryer. 

Definitely no more kissing thoughts. Especially at work. It was a health and safety issue at this point. 

Oliver thought, he aimlessly thought about which shade of blue to use to match the dress he had been shown, he thought about what a fool he was, he thought about Chris. He wondered again what Chris wanted in a man and if he could ever be that man. He quickly came to the conclusion that no, he would never be good enough for someone like Chris. On and off the stage he was amazing. He sparkled and shone, even the ‘I’m not homophobic but-‘ crowd of old biddies who visited the salon liked him. 

No. They were better off as friends. Until Oliver inevitably ruined that too somehow. Chris was electric, Chris was fun, Chris was walking over? 

“Hey petal, we’re doing drinks tonight, you’re in.” Oliver had to smile “I believe the usual question is are you in?” Chris was ready for him. 

“Ah but that implies you have a choice! You and I, are doing drinks tonight, and tapas of course and you are in.” Oliver smiled again. He didn’t want to go. It would be too much like what he couldn’t have, it would look like a date but it wouldn’t be. And that would cut him to the core but..Chris was, again, electric. He was a live wire you couldn’t touch but the self destructive urge was there. 

“Okay okay,” Oliver grabbed the live wire “you and I are having drinks and tapas tonight and I am in”. It would look like a date and it would cut and hurt in a way Oliver couldn’t describe but maybe for one second he’d know what it would feel like to date Chris. People would see them and instead of seeing one incredible live wire and one..him, maybe they’d see two men. Equals. On a date. And wouldn’t that really be something. 

Chris had to remind himself to be normal about the whole thing and not fist pump his way back to his station. He kept catching himself grinning at his own reflection as he worked on the endless conveyor belt of hair and he had to force the smile into a more neutral one. 

One of his biddies caught him and asked if there was love in the air. Chris forced out a laugh “no, no, I was just thinking to myself and thought of something funny. Nothing quite so interesting as love”. 

That didn’t stop him from showering in his nicest shower gel and from carefully tidying his beard and the whorls and curls that decorated his chest and the rest of him. He powdered and perfumed away like this was a real date and he just couldn’t help being excited. At least briefly he could feel like it was a date and enjoy the thrill it brought.