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Noah doesn’t quite recognize himself in the mirror.
He knows it’s the hair, and although it was his choice, there’s this swirl of anxiety brewing somewhere in his stomach, making him question if this had been a good idea at all because—god dammit, what if you hate it?
He turns his head side to side, watching how his now short locks flop with every movement. It looks good, he looks good. And yet, he can’t shake off this image in his head: you forcing a smile just to tell him, “As long as you’re happy.” And yes, he knows he is being overly dramatic. It’s just a haircut, something that he had been planning on doing since the beginning of the year, and something he had brought up to you multiple times, along with screenshots of his inspiration behind it.
You did nod your head in approval when he asked you if you thought he could pull it off. But what if? What if you think he looks ridiculous and stupid and like a child, and what if you laugh about it behind his back, and what if—
Three knocks on the door startle him, pulling him away from the mini-nervous breakdown that had been stirring within the confines of the Chili’s bathroom.
“You good, Noah?” Matt calls from the other side. “Everyone’s here and we’re all about to order.”
Noah still doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror, but he answers anyway with a quick, “Yeah, heading out now.”
The restaurant is dead, save for the booth housing some of his close friends, bickering and laughing over some dumb video Jolly found on the internet. Noah smiles once he spots you, tucked between Nick and Matt, and for a moment he forgets all about the stranger in the mirror. His heart picks up an extra beat, and suddenly the air in his lungs isn’t enough because you’re staring at him, wide eyed and with a silent gasp lost somewhere down your throat.
“Noah!” you scream, catching the attention of some of the few workers by the counter. “No, you did not! Who is this?”
He’s fighting down a sheepish smile. His head feels like it’s spinning because you climb out of the booth, stepping over Matt while he complains with a Hey, watch it, dumbass!
But you ignore that, and everyone else because Noah—your best friend, Noah—has cut his beautiful princess hair and now looks like someone who has killed, and will kill again. “Noah,” you beam at him.
“It looks a little weird, I know.”
“Nonononono,” you say, lifting your hand to brush your fingers against his hair. “You look so good! Oh my gosh, like a whole different person. See, I told you, you’d look hotter than Levi. Holy shit!”
“Like a model,” Jolly adds and Noah rolls his eyes.
You nod fervently. “This is going to take a while to get used to. You went from looking like some stoner dude to-to, well, this.”
“I feel like I should be offended,” Noah says, but truthfully there is a wave of relief rinsing the anxieties out of him. He is still Noah, you are still his best friend, and you guys are in the middle of a Chili’s restaurant on a Tuesday night to catch up on recent events.
He lets you admire him some more, feeling somewhat prideful about the unparalleled hold he has on you, and he does his best to answer the hundred questions you’re firing at him about his new look.
“Let’s take a picture,” you finally say, pushing your phone into Jolly’s hands. “I wanna remember this moment.”
Noah wants to laugh now, your sheer excitement is making him feel bubbly inside, as if he were drunk just from inhaling the expensive perfume you are wearing, the very same one he bought you not too long ago.
“I just cut my hair,” he smirks, throwing an arm around you as Jolly snaps the picture, “I’m still the same old Noah.”