“It’s. So. Hooooooot.” Lena was lying splayed backwards over the couch, spilling over the high back cushions towards the floor, drama frozen in slow motion. She had pushed herself so far that her head and arms now dangled just above the floor, barely brushing the wood as she lazily swung her hands back and forth. For a different person, any other person really, such a pose would have been uncomfortable to take up, and not at all sustainable, and perhaps might have been the topic of some concern for anyone else in the room, especially a significant other sitting just nearby. In fact, such a dramatic pose might have roused some kind of suspicion over whether the person in question had a spine at all. In this case, however, the significant other in question sat in her spot on the couch without so much as looking up from her book, complaints ignored and dramatic posing unviewed.

She was tucked into a corner of the couch, within touching distance of Lena and yet making no effort to reach out or stop her girlfriend from her antics, reading a book that was small in her hands, and yet showed the markers of being well-loved; pages folded and dog-eared, the cover worn and creased here and there, the spine loose from many read-throughs. Her legs were folded up underneath her, light skirt arranged neatly over them, and equally light tank top completing the sparse outfit. While she was not immune from the heat tormenting Lena, she was a little more reserved in her suffering. To that effect, without looking up, carefully turning a page with one hand, she responded to the complaint with a simple: “mhmmm”.

“What did I do to deserve this?!” Lena continued her tired tirade as she continued to mope her way over the back of the couch. For a tirade, it was quiet, not much fire in it, as the heat had sapped all energy from the both of them. Her movement continued slowly, however, a silent and stubborn offense against the air burning down on the both of them. Her forearms now rested against the wood floor, dragging across the cool ground while her hair barely brushed it between both arms. As she did, the thin tank top she was wearing threatened to outdistance her exaggerated slow fall, bunching up above her stomach as it was caught behind her. The couch saved the both of them, holding her to some standard of decency by snagging the back of her top between her hips and the fabric, so long as she remained somewhat on top of the couch. Further movement, however, promised further consequences, and Lena considered the implications of dumping herself all the way onto the floor for some time, looking up at the smooth wood between her arms. At least this was somewhat cooler, although the blood rushing to her head was probably going to make her feel a whole lot hotter in not a lot of time, so she had to decide whether she was snaking her way to the floor and leaving her legs propped up against the reverse side of the couch, or whether she was making the grand effort to place herself back on the couch in something approaching a normal pose. As she considered all of these possibilities, and her shirt continued to stretch between the place it was caught and the gravity that pulled on it, Emily finally spoke up in response:

“You could shave your head.” Her comment came somewhat suddenly, enough time having passed since Lena spoke for it to be possibly unrelated, and as Emily wasn’t paying any attention to anything beyond her book, it was a gamble. However, this was a topic of conversation that had come up before: Emily had been, once, some time ago now, a punk teenager, and so her experience with bleach, dye, and hair clippers was a long held but soft joke between the two of them. While she currently preferred the thick, natural mane of red that she wore even in the summer heat, there was a time where her skill with colors shone through for years of her life. Every color under the sun - and most combinations - she’d tried out one time or another, and for long enough that she was pretty sure she could still pull them off. The end of that era of her life hadn’t been that long ago, although it was long enough that Lena had never seen the colors in person, only in photos. Even those photos had been enough to awe her, although every attempt she had made at getting Emily to take up her previous skills and colors had failed; she was quite happy with how she looked now, and she knew exactly how much hard work went into keeping up that kind of magic.

Apparently, you could also accomplish magic by suggesting some form of relief from the uncharacteristically hot start-of-summer to Lena Oxton, who went from her incredibly uncomfortable looking position directly to a seated one, faster than any human should be able to. While her stabilizer was just a few feet away, dumped on the edge of the coffee table with straps and buckles pointing every which way, the lack of a distinctive blue flash told Emily that it hadn’t even been a blink - just regular Lena-quick motion. She threw herself over the top of the couch and onto the seat, crunching up those long legs and arms until she was nearly folded double, all to stare directly at Emily in less than a second flat.

“Would that help?! I feel like that would help? Please shave my head. That has to help. Emily. Emily Please shave my head. Please. Emily please .” Somehow, Lena had found the energy to not only move, but to assemble some form of her previous pep and excitement, and the outburst startled Emily. After the moment it took for this to register, she burst out laughing, managing to stop only long enough to say:

“Lena! No! You’ve never done anything like that to your hair.” Not that Emily was opposed to the idea, and in fact she usually went out of her way to support the sudden and occasionally brilliant desires of her flighty girlfriend, but not this time. It wasn’t even a concern for the good looks of her own Lena, but was instead concern for Lena “Tracer” Oxton’s particular brand. While she had been able to pull off some delightfully colored and styled hair before - for a promotional look for something or other, Emily didn’t quite remember - the shaved punk didn’t quite fit in with the excitable British look that Tracer had acquired over her lifetime.

“Emily! Please! Emily Please. Emily I am dying. Dying of heat. Please. Emily Please! You can help me! I’ll complain so much less with it shaved! You can do it all! Emily! Pleeease!” Somehow, Lena had slid back down even further than before, folding herself in half, in the opposite direction that she had chosen at first. This pretzel-ing was accompanied by the biggest puppy dog eyes Emily had seen that day, thrown over Lena’s shoulder at her, as her fingers poked out somewhere between her feet, looking for all the world like a weird cat stretching into position. “Emily pleeeeeeee-” in the midst of her name, the called-upon groaned. She knew this tactic, and so while the word began to be stretched out, she snapped her book shut and stood up. This was usually the be-all end-all tactic Lena resorted to when she knew Emily was on the edge of disagreeing, because something in the ridiculous lengthening of the word made Emily smile and also irritated her just enough to agree with whatever she was suggesting. Now standing, quite taller than her, Emily looked down at her oddly sprawled, sweaty, whining girlfriend, splayed out over the cushions of the couch, and crossed her arms. She didn’t bother waiting out the truly impressive lung capacity she knew was being used against her here, listening to the continued “-eeeee-” for just a moment or two before interrupting:

“Alright! Alright.”

“-eeaaaaaaass- OH RIGHT!” Lena grinned, halting her own sound with something nearing a shout, and then promptly fell to the floor. Between the whining, pretzel-ing, and attempt to get up, something had not worked out, and she ended up tangled in a pile on the hardwood. Despite herself, crossed arms and cocked hip and all, Emily smiled at her antics.

“I think I have my old clippers somewhere. If they still work. I’m sure I can find them. C’mon, to the bathroom with you!” At Emily’s word, Lena popped to her feet from the floor - and the accompanying flash of blue light and the indescribable yet now familiar sweet smell told Emily that it was, in fact, a blink to get there - and after a quick glance, she confirmed that Lena had snagged her harness on her way out. The character associated with a blink used to wig Emily out, not in the least because both the sight and smell were like nothing she could place, nothing she could name, but eventually - eventually - she got used to it, and now even that shade of blue made her smile when she caught it staring at the sky. She started on her way towards the bathroom, fairly sure that she caught a “whatareyouwaitingfor” as Lena blinked away, but chose to ignore it. Emily would make her own way to their shared bathroom, passing through the kitchen on the way. She knew there was a bowl of cold fruit stashed in the fridge, and she snagged some as she passed, choosing her own pace.

Lena was sitting, cross-legged, on the windowsill, when Emily arrived. The bathroom was small, but they each found ways to make it seem bigger while they were both in it: Lena’s tactic was to cram herself into odd, small spaces, like the window and the counter and sometimes the bathtub edge, while Emily preferred to fold herself into Lena’s space, occupying as little as possible in as close a space as she could. With Lena sitting as she was, there was just enough room to toss her an orange from the fridge, while Emily dropped the peel from her own, smaller orange, in the trash, popping the last slice into her mouth as she busied herself looking for a box. She’d put it together when she put her razor away for the last time, folded together in a parcel box, the top edges bent here and there with the force necessary to twist it closed. To be honest, she wasn’t entirely sure that the electric razor would still work , having been abandoned for some years without any care, but she’d do anything to entertain Lena for a while, and she was sure that it couldn’t go terribly. Hair grew back relatively quickly, and she could always wrangle it into something approximating the windswept current style, as long as she didn’t take too much length from the top. Finally, her hand brushed the top of the box, hidden in the cabinet beneath the sink, and she grinned. At this point, she knew that the razor would work: she’d found the box, which means that if the thing had not clicked on, Lena would have simply blinked to the corner store and appeared with a new one in hand before she could ever have discovered the broken one.

Funny, how, living with a casual time traveler, you got used to that kind of thing.

“Here we go,” Emily muttered, pulling the box out from beneath something else, which clattered down in the now empty space. She winced, but continued anyways, wrangling the small thing out and onto the counter with a satisfying thunk. “Ha!” It pulled open with more ease than it had taken to close, and she found to her delighted surprise that the box contained not only the razor, but a box of bleaching supplies and even a few tubs of color - although those were all dried out. She picked up one of the containers, the reddish dye within having quietly died due to exposure to the heat and the air over time, and turned it towards Lena, an orange slice hanging out of her mouth.

“Looks like you after a couple hours outside lately, huh?” Lena screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out at the comment, hiding the orange slice in her cheek, and Emily used the opportunity to lean forward and steal one of the remaining slices from Lena’s hands, dropped in her lap with what remained of the snack.

“Hey!” Lena frowned at her, the variety of expression transcribed with the kind of speed and intensity that made Emily’s heart flutter, even now, years after it caught her by surprise the first time, “That’s gonna cost ya.”

“Steal your kiss if you dare,” Emily responded, brandishing the electric razor that she had pulled from the box just then, unplugged and with the protective cover still snapped over the blades, no less, between them, staving off the usual cost of her usual theft. She never made it truly difficult, but the play made Lena smile every time, and so she continued to brandish absurd and hilariously useless weapons between them, just as she continued to steal bites and chocolates and orange slices. Lena did, in fact, dare, unfolding herself from the windowsill in order to stand, taking the half step towards Emily across the bathroom, hopping up on the balls of her feet so she could look down on Emily and bump her nose with her own, before taking her revenge with a slightly tangy kiss. Emily smiled at her, right up until Lena hopped onto the counter next to the sink. She barely fit into the space, cramming her ass in amongst the bottles and toothpaste, crossing her legs in what was probably supposed to be elegant and instead just ended up knocking something else off. Emily waved her down, chuckling at her motions and hiding it behind a hand, explaining her request when Lena looked at her with one expertly cocked eyebrow.

“No, nope, too tall. I can’t reach anything from there, sit on the floor,” surprisingly, Lena listened to her right away, with no sass, and settled herself on the rug just in front of the sink. The reason for her lack of complaint soon became clear, as Emily leaned over her to try and plug in the razor, and Lena leaned into her. She wrapped one hand around Emily’s leg, prompting her to pause in her motion, and then pressed her face against the inside of that same thigh. Emily, despite herself, smiled again, trying not to prompt any further sass on Lena’s part, and chided her softly.

“Cheeky.” This, of course, made Lena smile against her skin, and Emily waited far too long before nudging her away. Her face was cool against her leg, a little relief from the heat, enough that she didn’t even mind the closeness, and the way that Lena’s hair was tangled from this motion was adorable, in a completely ridiculous way. Finally, she pulled away, looking up at Emily with such a grin that she had to pause again, and carefully put away the imagined, far less appropriate, situation. She wanted to indulge; she thought about it for a moment and then another, before finally tearing her eyes away from the very infectious face of her girlfriend and reaching forward once more to plug in her old electric razor.

She had things to do. Hair to cut. Girlfriends to tease.

“What d’you want?”

“I dunno! Surprise me. Your stuff always looked so good. I’ve seen it! I know you did it all! Do me!” Emily smiled again, running fingers through her hair, tangling and untangling it as she did, thinking. Thinking of the wrong things, with that last phrase, the choice of words probably purposeful, making Emily twist her fingers a little tighter in the mop on top of Lena’s head. “Just pleeeeease hurry, Emily. I’m dying. Of heat. Heat and sun and.. All that.” She finished her statement with a wave of her hand, and Emily almost did something that would have put the hair shaving off for another half hour, but stopped herself just in time. It took a remarkable amount of self control to prevent herself from teasing Lena too far, as well as a sudden idea. Emily ran her fingers through that dark hair again, something in her manner having changed, and she flicked the razor on with her other hand. It sprang to life with a buzz that was comforting for Emily, the sound familiar even after all these years, but sent shivers running through Lena, sitting on the floor with her legs crossed and her hands grabbing her ankles. The first tufts of hair fell directly into her lap, and then there was no going back.

-

“Alright! You can go wash it out now.” The alarm on the watch that Emily was wearing, tiny computer really, the screen compacted into a little square inch that could spring out into screens and screens of functionality, had finally sung its song at the two of them. It was a soft tune, something melodious and subtle, different from the wake up alarm that would have had one of them leaping to their feet. One of them was a morning person much more than the other, and that other had spent the hour and change trapped. Lena had found the waiting part much more difficult than any other part of this process, and so had spent it in something of a compromising position, which was reached only after several mistakes and near shouts from Emily. The solution, as it turned out, was to lay a towel down on the cushions of the couch, put Lena on top of that, and then Emily on top of her.

Her hands, anyways, which Emily had pinned under her ass while settling into her spot to read her book, leaving Lena stretched out across the rest of the couch. Her legs draped over the far arm of the couch, dangling in the air, occasionally kicking and bouncing off of the arm. Emily was long practiced in ignoring these motions, and took all of her movement in stride. The only thing that earned Lena a smack on the arm was when she made an attempt to squeeze her butt, and a withering look quickly ended that particular line of sneaky sass - although Lena looked anything but remorseful for the act.

This complicated setup had been the only way to prevent Lena from touching her head, bleach layered carefully in her hair, and swept down just so. They hadn’t had any shower caps, disposable or otherwise, with which to hide it, to protect it, and while in theory one could poke at the irritating parts with the handle of a brush, Emily knew Lena had none of the necessary self control to stop at just poking. So she had removed the temptation and conveniently failed to offer her the bleach brush with the long handle suited perfectly for the task.

But now, she was freed from this torment, and Lena sprung up from beneath Emily to her feet, racing to the bathroom with all the speed she could muster. This left Emily to snatch the stabilizer by one strap and accompany Lena towards the bathroom at a much quicker pace than before, with no snack stops this time. Excitement had erased all things but the one task that she was focused on, and Emily let herself be rushed up in the whirlwind.

It was nearly night, now, the afternoon having melted away throughout the process. The buzzing had eaten up a chunk of time, but the shower that followed - and all of the teasing and rediscovery of just how irritating buzzed hair can be - had taken up more. The bleaching, unsurprisingly, had been extended in the time that it should have taken to apply, with Lena’s constant moving and desire to see what was, at the moment, a mess. Through all of that, and the terribly long wait that followed, the day had slipped away, leaving just the heat left to beat down on the two of them in their apartment.

By the time that Emily arrived at the bathroom, Lena was already kneeling on the floor there, having pushed the mat to the side of the tub, fighting their faucet. Emily hooked her carry-along next to the door, and took a seat on the edge of the tub, more than willing to let her girlfriend struggle with the uncooperative thing, until her help was actually needed. Not that this part of the process was particularly difficult - bleach was easy to wash out, with hot or cold water, involving product or not.

But Emily knew Lena, and she knew she’d be going for the coldest water the fastest way she could, which meant it was her job to make sure all of the bleach actually got washed out. This, though, meant she could have her hands in Lena’s hair, and even though it had been a long time, she hadn’t forgotten the feeling of having fingers run through recently bleached hair.

There they sat, Emily haphazardly rubbing Lena’s hair with a towel, watching her shoulders slump and head tilt back as she did. It was nice, calm even, and with the damp and the tile and the tub, almost tolerably cool. This lasted for a scant few minutes, however, as the excitement present in one Lena Oxton could not be contained.

“Can I look yet?” She demanded, drawing her knees up so she could rest her arms and chin on them. She looked a little like a pretzel again, but Emily knew better: she could jump up to her feet in a split second like this, and she put a preemptive hand on her shoulder.

“Nuh uh. Wait for it to be dry.” Emily shook her head empathetically, the hand not occupied in holding her down still rubbing the towel through her hair. It was maybe half dry by this point; even having lost a significant portion of its mass, it would take ages to dry.

“How about now?” She tried again, shrugging her shoulders to try and dislodge the hand there.

“No! You can wait!” Emily was just about as stubborn as Lena was insistent, and more importantly she was used to all of her tricks.

“But that takes for ever , Emily. I want to see it now .” Somehow, Emily was certain Lena was making more adorable faces, but the plushness of the towel saved her from falling victim to them, and she stayed strong on her previous statement:

“It won’t look any good until it’s well and dry! … if it looks good.”

“Hey?!” Lena jerked at the muttered second half of Emily’s statement, “You said it would? Emily! What did you do to my hair!?” She yanked the towel down around her shoulders instead, pulling it away from Emily in order to glare at her, mock offense mixed in with a little bit of genuine worry.

“It will be fine! Just wait for it to dry,” Emily tried to fix her girlfriend with a stare, “be patient.” Lena groaned halfway through the word, and then stopped suddenly. Emily had that feeling again, that creeping feeling that showed up whenever her girlfriend had an idea. A very specific brand of idea, that went a little past impulsive and into the territory of stupid. The kind of idea that, every time, Emily made the valiant attempt to talk her out of, and failed, spectacularly, to stop. Lena looked at her, the motion sudden, over her shoulder, using the twist to knock what was left of Emily’s grasp off of her, and then she leapt to her feet with a grin, shooting past Emily, and snatching her harness off of the hook to sprint out the door.

“LENA OXTON I SWEAR -” but, as always, her complaints were too slow, and while they echoed through the flat, they fell on no ears but her own.

She must have gone sprinting straight out the bathroom door, through the outer door, and to the great wide world, using her speed to dry her hair, and Emily groaned aloud. Her response to this was a little dramatic, sure, but it was nothing compared to what she lived with every day. Hell, Lena didn’t even need to blink to get the kind of run that would accomplish her goal quickly, and yet she knew she would, speed the essence of her existence. Emily dragged herself to her feet, grumbling as she tossed the towel at the laundry basket and made a ringer, which only improved her mood a little. The return of her errant girlfriend would improve her mood a lot, and she was sure she didn’t have long to wait, so she went on her way towards the door as soon as she stood.

And that errant girlfriend rang the doorbell as if on cue. She had no keys with which to get back in, having locked herself out as soon as she exited the room.

“Sometimes, rushing gets you in trouble,” Emily grumbled, finding herself smiling anyways, a little ruefully, and rolling her eyes. She was already on her way to the door, and stepped up ready to say something, although she hadn’t had time to think of what exactly to say. She opened the door anyways, before Lena could get another go at the doorbell, and the very excitable girl nearly fell through the door.

Lena looked exceptionally pleased with herself, catching herself with a little dance into the entryway of their flat. Emily looked her up and down, and finally noticed that she was now sporting a mohawk.

“Oh,” Emily started, catching sight of the hairstyle that had applied itself to her girlfriend in her sudden night run, and Lena jumped at the word, instantly making a break for the rest of the flat and a beeline for the bathroom, and the mirror contained within, but for once in her life Emily was quick enough on the draw -

“No-oo-o you do not, Miss. Lena. Oxton. ” And snatched her errant girlfriend’s wrist, reeling her in by the tight grasp and the closest thing to three-naming she got. She turned a Look onto Lena’s sheepish expression, and for once she stood still while Emily regarded her, tight grasp no longer necessary. Emily pulled on her shoulder and ran her hands through her hair, catching flyaway strands and bringing them back to the chunk of hair that made up the mohawk. Eventually, she stepped back and regarded the look, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, and finally - she nodded. Before she could blink, Lena did, and she heard the gasp from the bathroom all the way out where she was standing by the door.

Emily began a casual stroll towards her, not wanting to rush - both for her own sake, and to give Lena a few moments to herself before she offered her opinions on anything. Sometimes she needed a second, and it was a pattern that Emily was used to, so she made sure to take her time through the kitchen and around the corner and even paused to catch her breath and maybe center herself for any possible fallout.

And then she turned into the bathroom, leaning on the door, looking at Lena. She was staring, intently, mouth slightly open, at her reflection in their mirror, both hands on the counter to either side of the sink, fingers crimped up against the surface like she’d grasped at it in excitement. The face she was making was actually quite cute, and Emily smiled, admiring the entire look, before Lena turned towards her with a surprising question:

“Do you like it?” Emily wasn’t sure where this question had risen from; whether she was asking from the worry that Emily wouldn’t find her attractive with the change, or whether she was just worried about the entire affair - but she was prepared for either possibility. She’d gone through this experience many times herself, and she knew that sometimes one just needed a little bit of support for such a radical change. Plus, for being such an extrovert, Lena had her self-conscious moments, and those were usually based on her appearance (and, rarely, something she had said too quickly, but not quick enough to undo), and Emily was prepared to encourage her through that too.

“Of course.” She smiled, genuinely, pushing off from the doorway to join her in the bathroom. “What do you think?” She asked, coming up behind her and placing her arms around her waist, nestling her chin in that dip in Lena’s shoulder where she fit perfectly, just between her shoulder and neck, looking at the mirror - and therefore her - straight on. She thought, maybe, there was a flush in Lena’s cheeks, although that could just be from the night time run.

Lena’s eyes were nearly shining in the light, her shoulders a little tense under Emily’s chin, vibrating with energy. Emily snaked her arms a little tighter around her waist, shifting against the harness that had made its way back onto her sometime during that run, waiting patiently for her response. She couldn’t be too worried, with the brilliant half-surprised, half-delighted look that had stuck to Lena’s face ever since she walked in the door, but she wasn’t going to pressure her into answering either.

Plus, it was nice to sit still for perhaps the first time that day, willingly so no less, with the heat seeping out of the room almost as quickly as it had entered that morning. When she finally answered, Emily wasn’t at all surprised at the response, and yet it still filled her with pride and no little glee:

“It looks like lightning . I love it!”