“You shouldn’t,” he responded truthfully. “I mean- I would love it if you and I could actually get along and become amigos, considering are dorm room’s are side-by-side and we share some classes.” He stood beside Arthur, his arm swinging over to his shoulder, “But we can start again, si?”
There was a bit of a pounding in Antonio’s head after speaking such words. He considered it to be a sign, or perhaps some kind of warning to ‘get out of there, and abort this mission immediately,’ but of course, he didn’t heed it. Releasing his hold on the Brit, Antonio turned on his heels, pointing over at the direction of the gate. “There is a little barber shop nearby. It’s small because it is run by a family, but they are very kind,” he pointed at his own hair, “they give me a trim every now and then, and for free. Maybe because I sometimes go there to help them clean up or sing songs for them.”
Slipping his hands into his pockets, he began walking ahead, but soon stopped in his tracks, looking back. “Come on, ‘a-mi-go’. They don’t stay open for too long, only until 2. If we don’t go now, you won’t get your hair cut. Unless you are going for that long hair look. It’d look funny on you.”
“Hmph...” He instantly shrugged Antonio’s arm away, choosing to say nothing in response to his little heart-warming (more like vomit-inducing) speech. It would take a lot more than a ‘let’s start again’ for Arthur to overlook all those humiliating incidents involving sparkly pink tutus and green dye and the ruining of beloved books. His poor opinion of the dancer was set in heavy stone now, and if Antonio truly wished to sink said stone, he’d need a hell of a lot of resilience and determination in order to do so, because Arthur certainly would make it easy for him.
However, for now the Brit needed a sodding haircut, and the cheaper the better as it stood. Though he wasn’t expecting to get anything for free, he’d be quite willing to do a bit of cleaning up or performing if it meant he wouldn't have to spend his meager wages on something that might be considered an indulgence. It’s a rare and desperate case in which Arthur would willingly go along with a suggestion of Antonio’s, but that is what he did.
With the swallowing of his pride, and balling of his fists, Arthur turned to catch up with the Spaniard, quiet and brooding as he did, shoulders hunched. It was an odd sense of curiosity that finally broke the blond’s silence. “So you sing, as well as dance like a pansy-arsed prat,” he murmured. “Are you any good on guitar?”
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