The familiar hum of the neon lights flickered above the entrance of the barbershop as you stepped in, the doorbell chiming softly. The place was quieter than expected, with only the sound of clippers buzzing in the air. You weren't sure what to expect, but the moment you saw the barber, you realized you’d walked into more than just a typical barbershop.

Behind the counter stood him—Ryder. His mohawk, fanned and sharp, was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by his well-fitted, clean clothes that somehow meshed perfectly with his punk aura. His tattoos peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his t-shirt, and piercings adorned his ears and brow, giving him a sharp edge without losing that well-groomed vibe.

He glanced up from what he was doing, offering you a casual smile, his eyes scanning you for a moment before he spoke. "Need a trim?" His voice had a calm, almost too smooth tone for someone with his look.

You nodded, a little unsure but intrigued. He gestured to the chair, his movements steady and relaxed, the opposite of what you expected from someone with such a bold aesthetic. As you sat down, he turned the chair slightly, getting a better look at your hair.

"Let’s see what we’re working with," he said, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. He leaned in a little closer as he ran his fingers through your hair, his hands steady and methodical.

"You're lucky," he continued, "not everyone can pull off a messy look. But I think we can clean it up a bit, make it... sharper."

The snip of the scissors and hum of the clippers filled the air as he worked, his eyes occasionally glancing up at you with a playful, knowing look. He wasn't rushing, though, and that was something you appreciated. He had a way of making you feel at ease, even though the place screamed rebellion and loud punk rock.