you were a worker in some drugstore in the main shopping center in liverpool. you really wanted to be a hairdresser once you finished school, but for now this job had to do while you were in school.

while you were ambling around the hair section, there was a tall average looking guy with light brown hair he was sporting a white button up, red tie, and a black vest and blazer, and aviator glasses, occupying half his face. his hair was cut nicely but definitely oily. he seemed to be having trouble reading the bottles, before you offered your input.

“yknow i was wondering if you had any shampoo for greasy hair.” he spoke thickly in that accent everybody had.

“is it for you?” you inquired.

“noh..” he pointed behind him, shaking his head but maintaining eye contact. “a friend of mine.” he snorted at his own joke, breaking a smile. “yeah it’s for me.” he confirmed bashfully, pulling at the ends of his fine, light brown hair, which was slightly mousy.

you shifted your weight “how often do you wash your hair?”

“ehh.. bout two, three times.” he kept plucking the ends of his hair, like he was ruffling a birds feathers “a year.” he snorted again. “no, a week.” he grinned even wider, his mouth creasing with sweet smile lines. and he nodded again.