For Tam, who gave me constructive feedback , and Deka, who always sends happy-grams after I ObSenad... + + + + + The pound of footsteps in the stairwell was Jim's first indication that Blair's day had not gone well. They sounded angry - if footsteps could sound that way - and heavy as their owner climbed to the third floor. Jim extended his senses in an attempt to guage his lover's frame of mind. Slightly elevated respiration and heart beat, coupled with Blair's mutterings led Jim to believe that he was right; the younger man was in a pretty bad mood. When Blair opened the door, he was there, with beer in hand, to greet him. What he saw nearly made him drop the bottle. "What the fuck happened to your hair, Chief?" "I don't want to talk about it, Jim." Brushing past the older man, Blair placed his keys on the table, and dropped his backpack in the chair before heading into the bathroom. Ignoring the house rules, Jim followed him, pushing open the door, eyes glued to what was left of his hair. "Do you mind? I'm trying to piss here." "Are you planning on telling me why you cut your hair? Or am I going to have to guess?" Blair's eyes rolled up at this, and he snorted. "Is it so life threatening that you can't wait until I finish here?" As he zipped up, he flushed, and turned to the sink to wash his hands. Carefully avoiding the reflection in the mirror, he turned the water on, soaped up, rinsed and turned the water off, then dried his hands. He walked to the door, expecting that Jim would move, but he stayed put, looking down at the top of Blair's head. Flashing a less-than-genuine smile, Blair asked, "Are you going to let me out, big guy, or are we gonna spend the night in here?" Jim stepped aside with a flourish, and said, "After you, please." Blair went to the kitchen, and began to prepare dinner. He chopped vegetables for stir-fry, started the rice, and set the table, and still made no move to answer Jim's question. Jim just stood at the sink, watching him. When it became apparent that Blair was going to blow him off, he asked again, "What happened to your hair?" "What does it look like? Come on, Jim, you're a smart guy, you figure it out." "I can see that you cut it, Chief, and you know that's not what I'm asking. Why did you do it?" Throwing the knife to the counter, Blair turned on Jim, yelling, "Does it really matter? I did it, that's all, end of story." "Hell, yes, it matters. You said you weren't going to cut it, and now you have and fuck - you just don't look like you anymore and I want to know why you did it." "Can we just drop it? Please?" "No, we can't just drop it. You're the one that's always telling me to talk about shit, so talk." "I don't want to talk about it. What is so hard to understand about that?" He hated it when Blair did that. "I'm not an idiot, Blair. I understand you perfectly. I also know that if the situation were reversed, you'd be doing the same thing, so talk, instead of sulking." "I am so out of here." Switching off the stove, Blair crossed to the door. "Blair, don't just walk out. This is ridiculous - there is no reason we can't talk about this. Come on, cut me some slack here. I'm only trying to help." "Yeah? Well, I don't want any help right now." Grabbing his keys off the table, he continued, "I'm going - don't wait up for me." "Blair Sandburg! Don't you dare walk out on me!" "Or what, Jim? You'll punish me? What are you going to do? Ground me to the loft, spank me? You're not my father, and you can't tell me what to do. I don't need this shit from *you* of all people." Anger made him ennuciate his next words very clearly, "I. am. leaving. If I see you later, I see you later; if not, oh well." "Blair -" An angry gesture cut him off, and he watched as his lover turned to leave. "Don't." Blair froze at the door, shoulders hunched. + + + + +