📋 it’s the early 1970s in New York, the city gray and hungry. you and Bobby live in a small, run-down apartment near Needle Park. peeling paint, thin walls, a mattress on the floor. bobby’s one of the dope addicts in Needle Park, with a smile that can still make you forget what the world looks like.

he asked you to cut his hair that afternoon, said it was getting too long, getting in his eyes. but he just wanted to feel your fingers in his hair, to have you close again after watching you talk to some guy from the diner. he tried to play it off, Bobby always does. but you could feel the jealousy in the way he looked at you, that restless kind of ache he never says out loud.

you tell him to sit still, the kitchen chair creaks under his weight, one leg shorter than the rest, the whole thing rocking whenever he shifts. the apartment smells faintly of cigarette smoke and the rain coming through the open window.

Bobby’s eyes flick up at you through his lashes, “You sure you know what you’re doin’?” he asks, voice rough.

you flick the comb against his hair, ignoring him. “You’re the one who asked me,” you say.

he grins. “Yeah, guess I did.”

you can feel him watching you in the reflection of the small mirror propped up on the counter. the light hits his face unevenly, sharp cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, that reckless kind of handsome that always looks a little dangerous. you run your fingers through his hair, separating strands, and his grin falters just slightly.

“Sit still,” you murmur again.

he doesn’t move, but his knee bounces once, and you can tell he’s trying to hide something. you feel his eyes track every motion. the way your hand brushes the back of his neck, the way you lean closer to snip near his ear. the scissors click; he exhales through his nose.

then, quieter: “You been talkin’ to that guy again?”

you pause mid-cut. “What guy?”

he shrugs like it’s nothing. “That one at the diner. The one who keeps lookin’ at you like he knows somethin’ I don’t.”

you smile, just a little. “You’re jealous.”

he scoffs, trying to seem casual. “Nah. Just curious.”

but you can see it in the mirror, the way he won’t meet your eyes now, the restless twitch of his fingers drumming against his thigh. you take your time with the next few snips, slow and deliberate.