[t]alk to me.

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen wanted to explain to the other man that his reluctance had nothing to do with the guy's baldness, but he couldn’t trust himself to speak without spilling a load of stomach acid all over the floor. However, he did manage to utter a few heart-felt words he hoped would suffice, at least for now.

"I love you too, Vincent," he murmured back, relaxing as much as was possible to the hand going through his hair. Hair. So much hair. They were even sitting on the pile of hair that had come off the therapist. Normally Ismirshalen had a huge problem with hairs of any kind getting onto his clothes, but these were Vincent hairs. These hairs he could tolerate to the point of growing them on his body to replace the ones that had been removed by laser surgery if he was asked to.

But besides that point, he realized this was the first time he had ever really told the guy he loved him. Well, maybe he had before, but he didn’t remember doing so. Maybe that was because of his headache. Nonetheless, it made him feel better somehow, and he leaned comfortably back against the doctor. Soon the man's breathing was reduced to that of a sleeping rhythm. They sat that way against the bathroom wall for ten minutes or so longer. Finally the secretary's nausea ebbed enough for him to stand.

He got up carefully so as not to disturb the therapist, then even more carefully lifted the bald man up into his arms. A small smile spread across his face as he remembered doing this a lot not long before. Back then he'd never put much thought into the suggestiveness of him carrying the guy around everywhere. It'd been all about speed and convenience then. At least on the outside. Slowly he limped over to the bed and set Dr. DeVrais down upon it, then pulled the blanket over him. He leaned down to gently kiss the man's forehead. "I'll be back," he whispered, though not anywhere near loud enough to wake the sleeping man up. With that, he got his cane from the bathroom, turned out the lights, and left the apartment.

About an hour later, Ismirshalen returned to the apartment, weighing a bit more than he did before due to the addition of certain forms hidden under his coat. He was hardly able to make it to the bathroom in time to spit stomach acid into the toilet. He had a horrific migraine. He'd gotten the marriage forms okay, but on the way there and back he'd passed enough coffee shops to send his insides on fire in their craving. At one point he'd almost caved. The thought of the therapist stopped him before he could make it further than the store's threshold. That amount of self control was a victory to him, then. But now it was taking its toll on him. He wished he'd gotten a coffee. But how easily that would have turned into two coffees. Then three. And he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not if he planned on going through with what he'd gotten himself into. He was going to propose to Vincent.

But he was having some doubts. His head was pounding like thousands of drums in his skull, and he was overtaken by the feverish need to prove that he loved the therapist. That what he was getting into was not going to be a huge mistake. The secretary stared into the bathroom mirror at himself, but the image was blurred by swirls running past his eyes, and he felt as if he was watching a very old film. However, what he was focused on was not hard to make out, since there was so much of it.

His hair. His long, silky hair he loved so much. Loved perhaps even more than he loved coffee. Feeling as if he were in a dream, a really painful dream, he slowly took the electric shaver and plugged it into the wall. When he turned it on the buzzing that resounded through the room was almost enough to reduce him to agonized sobs. But by some strange force he managed to lift the device to his head. Seconds later his hair was falling down around his face. Madly he dug at it, with about the same ferocity that he had been so afraid of in the therapist before. The long curls falling around him took on some strange shapes ranging from coffee mugs to faces to demons, which he hazily thought couldn’t be right, but he continued on anyway. Something warm started trickling down his scalp from a spot where he'd dug too deep, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts consisted of warped buzzing noises that were starting to sound like radio transmissions screaming "SHAAAVVVEEEEE".

His head was bald. No hair. Ismirshalen stared into the mirror blankly for a few minutes, holding the buzzing shaver off to the side. His blue eyes slowly traveled to the floor, which was now completely littered with a mix of his hair and the therapist's. He looked back at his reflection. Then the floor. Then his reflection. This happened a few more times, and after a while he started to shake with the realization of what he had just done. His eyes watered as he stared at the man looking back at him. It couldn’t be him. But it had the same face. When he tore the shaver out of the wall, so did the man in the mirror. The shaving instrument clattered loudly to the floor form his nerveless fingers. His heart raced in his chest as he tore his gaze away from the gruesome image and stumbled into the shower. Whimpers escaped his throat that quickly turned into sobs. He felt his bald head with terrified fingers that he couldn’t manage to hold in one spot. The now hairless man curled up into a ball, feeling lightheaded from the sudden loss of weight on his head, which felt like it was on fire and on ice all at once. Ismirshalen cried until it hurt to do so, then simply stared at the side of the tub he was curled up against.

He's going to hate me now, he thought. He was so disgusting. His head belonged under the cover of a paper bag.

[VinnNAY]

Vincent heard buzzing. Then he heard crying. Then he realized he was asleep.

With that thought he awoke. He laid there for awhile puzzled and staring straight forward. Last place he was, was in that magical bathroom. Doing magical things…

Then he remembered Ismirshalen was about somewhere. Buzzing and crying wasn’t a good thing when your lover is in the same building as you. At that thought Vincent jumped up from his bed in all his crumpled clothed glory and rushed to the bathroom only to find a fuzzy-headed man crying on a heap of hair. Crying meant alive. Vincent was sure that the buzzing meant that the razor had grown alive and started attacking him. But this was a bigger fail.

“Oh, Michel, you’re bleeding!” Vincent announced while grabbing the nearest washcloth in the room and running to him. He pressed the cloth on Ismirshalen’s hairless head while he reached for the sink cabinet to get some sort of Band-Aid. You’d think the man had never shaved before (Good guess Vincent).

While tending to his secretary’s wounds he kissed around his fuzzy (blond) head and hugged him as close to him as possible. He was dearly confused.

“Why?”

[&Ismirshalen]

Ismirshalen couldn’t reply to the therapist right away because every time he tried to form words they came out as sobs instead. He wrapped his terrible head-mowing hands around Dr. DeVrais and buried his face in the man's chest, getting it soggy with his tears. He wanted to cut his hands off. That way he could never do something like this again. All they seemed to be good for lately was slapping his lover and removing beautiful hair from both of their heads. At least he hadn't been thrown out of the room yet. That's what he had been expecting. He must look hideous.

Bleeding. He was bleeding? Now that he thought about it, the burning pain on his head seemed to come from a source other than the migraine he was experiencing. He choked up even more at the thought, shaking uncontrollably in Vincent's arms. Now he had two bald spots to worry about. But what did it matter, anyway? He had already done the unthinkable.

"I-I w-wanted t-to prove t-t'hat I l-lo-loved y-you," he managed to stutter, feeling as if he were being stopped and re-winded then started again repeatedly. "B-because I w-want to m-marry y-you." He unwrapped his arms from the therapist momentarily to fumble feverishly at the inside of his coat. After a few unnecessary misses he finally brought out the marriage form, but his hands were shaking so badly it tumbled to the floor. Feeling frustrated, embarrassed, and naked from the lack of hair on his head, he simply burst into tears without trying to retrieve the slightly battered document. While he did this he wrestled with a golden band on his ring finger, which was actually quite easy to get off since he hadn't gained any fat in that area, but the task was made into a chore because he couldn't stop shaking. He tried to explain that the ring was truly meant to go to Vincent now, but that just came out as senseless blubbering sounds, so he simply grasped the other man's hand and slid it onto his bony finger.

A proposal done the Izzy way is always done the best way.

He even noticed that the therapist's hair seemed longer than before. Why did being French seem to come with so many benefits compared to being English? Who cares how many wars they lost. Ismirshalen was practically already French he'd lost so many of his own wars. Apparently he got the bad side of everything.

[VinnNAY]

«Hair grows, and it is always better than before» Vincent said, trying his best to comfort his beau. But Ismirshalen had something else on his mind it seemed.

«Oh, Michel, I would love to be Monsieur Glasscock!» Vincent exclaimed emotionally, hooking himself even more onto Ismirshalen. That’s all these two are, emotions. Some day there would be a day where neither will cry. Let’s hope fate doesn’t procrastinate. Vincent removed himself from the other to examine the damage. He wasn’t sure if telling him that he didn’t need to shave himself bald to prove his love would make anything better so he just smiled and thanked him somewhat awkwardly.

Vincent’s sheer shock of the moment increased as Izzy started to clumsily slide a freakishly lavish ring onto his finger and blab wildly in an unknown British dialect. Anyone else witnessing this feat would be laughing their ass off but Vincent was dearly touched. He nervously kissed the shaking man and lifted the papers. There was much to consider…

[&Ismirshalen]

W-W'hat if it d-doesn't grow back?" he asked, feeling frightened. He'd cared for it so unfailingly all these years and it'd been nice and soft and long for him. But now he'd gone and hacked it all off. If he were the hair he sure as Hell wouldn’t plan on growing back anytime soon. And it would be blond. He hated his hair blond. Black was so much more manly in his eyes. Blond just made him look girly and like he was related to Georg. Forget that Ismirshalen's hair was curly and the German's was straight.

The secretary sat in a hairy heap on the floor while the therapist examined him. "N-not t-that name, p-please," he pleaded, biting his lip and wiping at his puffy red eyes. "Vincent and Ismirshalen DeVrais." Anything was better than his real name. He hated it so much he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He couldn’t even say his true first name that his lover used now in place of the name he'd given himself. By now he'd stopped trying to correct the other man, because it was obvious he was too stubborn. Not to mention it was probably easier for him to say than Ismirshalen. He wondered what drugs he'd been on when he'd chosen that name. Ah, that's right. Caffeine. He frankly hated the stuff now and the rash actions it was making him commit. However those rash actions had at least helped him determine one thing, even if it had been done in a rather unorthodox way.

"I love you," he murmured less shakily than anything he'd said so far, resting his head on Vincent's chest and watching him handle the papers.

[VinnNAY]

«You are very cute, Michel» Vincent laughed at the perturbed Izzy with trivial hair doubts on his mind.

He continued forth with the marriage papers. He could barely understand the documents as he was so excited and Ismirshalen was distracting him with his cuteness. He even put his arm around him to steady his Michel as close as possible to him.

«But Michel DeVrais sounds very French» Vincent joked. «You could live with that?» Of course he was just regaling Ismirshalen with his terrible British comedy-like humor when he said Vincent and Michel Glasscock but he wouldn’t take a fake last name like Linnaeus. It was either DeVrais or Glasscock.

«I love you more, Blondie»

[&Ismirshalen]

"Cute?" he asked doubtfully. He was nothing of the sort. Never had he once looked at himself and thought the word cute. "But I look hideous," he whimpered. He started trembling a bit more harshly and decided it would be better for his psyche at the moment if he could stop thinking about his hair. Or rather, lack of hair. It was all on the floor now. All on the floor. And no amount of super glue would put it back on his fuzzy blond scalp.

In response to the arm that the therapist wrapped around him Ismirshalen leaned in closer to the other man and rested his head against his chest. The sound of Vincent's heartbeat was calming and enough to keep him from shaking like he was standing in Alaska wearing nothing but underwear. And not even thermal underwear.

"Michel is too feminine," he protested, shuddering as his brows furrowed in worry. Could the therapist be serious? He sounded serious. Which freaked the secretary out a bit, because he didn’t know how he would ever be able to go out in public if he was shaven and had a girly French first name.

"You can't prove t'hat," he replied to his lover's declaration of having more love. Impossible. He was practically exploding with love right now.

[VinnNAY]

«Very cute» Vincent repeated to his secretary with a tired smile as he finished filling out the forms. Izzy only continued to complain, though.

«Are you saying that the French are feminine?» Vincent asked, offended. «Michel de Notre Dame was the sixteenth-century French astrologer who made predictions about future world events. Very manly!» Maybe if Vincent mentioned that the French gurgled their spit to create ‘R’s then Izzy would believe that the French were full of testosterone.

Vincent roughly placed the papers in Michel’s lap and crossed his arms angrily. Premarital argument.

[&Ismirshalen]

"No, I'm not saying t'hat," he assured the therapist. "Vincent is French and is very masculine…" Ismirshalen flinched as the marriage form was angrily placed into his lap. He bit his lip and tried running his fingers through his hair, but he didn’t have any hair. Slowly he brought down his hand while trying not to lose it and bit his nails instead. He stared at the hairy floor, deep in a struggle to decide how he was going to respond.

The therapist was good at making the name Michel sound manly. But the secretary was still doubtful. Yet if he voiced his will not to retake his birth name Dr. DeVrais would only come up with more examples until he couldn’t make any reasonable protest at all. And his name right now was quite fake. The therapist didn’t even call him by it anyway. And the therapist was frankly the only person who talked to him. Who else would have to know? He could still tell everyone else his name was Ismirshalen. They wouldn’t need to know the reality…

C'mon, if you love him so much you'll do it for him, a little voice spoke up in the back of his mind. That was it.

"All right," he finally said, bringing his eyes up to look into Vincent's black ones. The look on the therapist's face further sent him into submission. He couldn't possibly resist his lover when he was looked at like that. "Vincent et Michel DeVrais…" He felt like strangling himself when he spoke his name aloud. He hadn't said it in years.

[Ellzeplay]

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