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Kaiyon “Kai” Reeves, 24, Local B8 Barber

Kaire Brown, 21, Rising Popular Street Fighter

The North Bham Plaza buzzes with Sunday morning energy—cars idling by QuickStop, groups huddled around the basketball court, the distant sizzle of fried chicken from Plaza Wings carrying through the air. Kaire pulls his Impala into a prime spot near the Northside Plaza Barbershop & Salon, the neon sign flickering to life as the sun climbs higher in the sky.

Inside the shop, the clippers buzz and hip-hop thumps from the speakers. Kaiyon Reeves moves smoothly between clients, his dreads swaying as he adjusts a fade mirror. When he spots Kaire, his expression brightens with that quick, practiced smile.

"Well, well." Kaiyon's voice is smooth and warm, his gold chain swinging as he turns off the clippers. The neon barber's chair spins slowly, his muscled arms visible through his fitted tee. He steps around the chair, eyes flicking across Kaire's face and hair. "Look at you, big baller. The man of the hour, huh?" The shop smells of men's cologne and fresh cuts, the hum of the clippers still buzzing in the background. Kaiyon gestures toward the waiting area. "You waiting on somebody, or you sittin' in my chair today?" Kaire smirks, his gold 21 pendant catching the light as he tilts his chin up. "You know I don't sit nowhere but in your chair, bruh." He slides into the barber's chair, the leather creaking under his weight. The shop is warm, a refuge from the crisp November air outside. Kaire watches in the mirror as Kaiyon drapes a cape around his shoulders, the clippers already buzzing to life in his hand.

Kaiyon's hands work swiftly, the clippers humming as he trims Kaire's fresh cut, the scent of shampoo and product heavy in the small space. His gold chain swings with every movement, glinting under the shop lights. "Bet you been busy as hell this season, huh?" He flicks Kaire's braids with the comb, testing the weight. "The way you got them boys backin' down in Bama on that video..." He leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Kaire to fill in the rest.

Kaire exhales, his muscles relaxing under Kaiyon's touch as the clippers hum against his scalp. "Shit, you know how it go." Kaire watches Kaiyon in the mirror, the barber's hands moving with practiced ease. The clippers trace a clean line along his temple, the vibration a steady buzz against his skin. The shop is warm, the air thick with the smell of shea butter and cheap cologne.

"You heard about the final?" Kaire asks, his voice low enough that the other barber, cutting an older man's hair two chairs down, doesn't glance over.

Kaiyon's eyes meet his in the reflection. He pauses, the clippers hovering near Kaire's ear. His gold chain rests against his collarbone, catching the fluorescent light. "Heard whispers. Hundred grand, right?" Kaiyon's hands continue working, the clippers buzzing as he trims Kaire's sideburns. His gold chain swings with the movement, glinting under the shop lights.

"You know Kush from Miami, right? That dude been in the gym all week."

Kaire nods, his jaw tight as Kaiyon's hands work along his nape. The barber's chair creaks as he leans back, the cape around his shoulders warm from Kaiyon's fingers. "I know. Seen him train."

Kaiyon's eyes sharpen in the mirror. "Bet he been waitin' on you to stumble. Ain't no easy wins in them finals." The words hang between them, heavy and unspoken. Kaire exhales through his nose, his fingers tightening on the armrests of the barber's chair.

Kaiyon watches him carefully in the mirror, his gold chain swinging as he adjusts his stance.

Kaiyon sets the clippers down with a soft click and spins the chair to face him fully. His hands rest on the armrests, his gold chain glinting under the shop lights.

"A hundred grand is serious. Ain't no room for fuck-ups, you feel me?"

Kaire meets his eyes in the mirror, his expression unreadable. His gold 21 pendant rests against his chest, still warm from the clippers. "Damn right," he says after a beat, his voice steady despite the tightness in his jaw. "That money got my name on it."

Kaiyon's expression softens, his fingers drumming once against the chair arm. "You training different for this? Or you just gonna go in there and wreck him?"

Kaire smirks, a flash of confidence breaking through his tension. "Little bit of both. Been hitting the gym harder, sparring with dudes who move like Kush." His gold chain shifts as he leans forward slightly. "But I ain't changed nothing else. Still gonna be me in that ring."

The other barber finishes his client, the older man standing and brushing off his shoulders. Kaiyon nods slowly, his eyes still fixed on Kaire in the mirror. He picks up a pair of shears, the metal glinting as he starts on the bulk of Kaire's braids. The shop door swings open, letting in a burst of cold air and the sound of a car stereo bumping down the block. A couple of younger guys walk in, nodding at Kaiyon before taking seats in the waiting area.

"Ain't no 'little bit' about it," Kaiyon says, his voice dropping lower. The shears snip precisely. "You seen the tape from his last fight? Dude dropped Tymere with a body shot. Clean." Kaire's jaw tightens. He watches Kaiyon's reflection as the shears work through his braids, the snipping sound steady in the warm shop. One of the younger guys in the waiting area pulls out his phone, the screen glow illuminating his face as he scrolls.

"I seen it." Kaire's voice is flat. His fingers drum once against the armrest. "Tymere got caught reaching. Kush wait on that."

Kaire: Kaire settles into the barber's chair, Kaiyon's hands moving with swift confidence as he works on Kaire's fresh cut. The shop hums with the buzz of clippers and the warm, thick atmosphere of shea butter and cheap cologne.

Kaire: The conversation starts with Kaire commenting on the new KD-9s, Kaiyon nods approvingly and shares his own take on the latest NBA trade rumors. They talk about the Warriors and how they'll adapt after the Kevin Durant injury, the potential for LeBron to lead the Lakers to the finals, and how Kawhi Leonard's move to the Clippers changes the power balance in the West. Kaiyon: "Nah, man, Westbrook was always a triple-double machine. But you can't be the sixth man of your own team." He gives Kaire a knowing look in the mirror. "Lakers gotta get him right, or he'll be the biggest bonus in the league."

Kaire: He lets out a sharp laugh, the vibration traveling through his gold chain. "Shit, at least he can lead the bench mob. But niggas be wanting him to be Steph, you feel me?" Kaire shifts in the chair, the buzz of the clippers humming against his scalp.

Kaiyon: "True. But Westbrook hustle hard. Can't deny the effort." Kaiyon moves the clippers with a rhythmic precision, his shoulder-length dreads swaying as he leans in to sharpen Kaire's line. "Speaking of hustle, you seeing what the Chiefs doing this year? Mahomes is a cheat code, bruh. I'm telling you, NFL ain't ready for that sidearm shit."

Kaire grins, his gold 21 pendant shifting against his chest. Kaire grins, his gold 21 pendant shifting against his chest. "Mahomes is flashy, I'll give you that. But you think they can hold that run? Defense eventually catches up to the magic."

Kaiyon scoffs, stepping back to examine the angle of the fade. He shakes his head, his dreads brushing against his shoulders. "Man, stop it. Mahomes is the future."

Kaiyon picks up the clippers again, the buzzing steady as he traces a clean line along Kaire's temple. The shop is warm, a refuge from the crisp November air outside, thick with the smell of shea butter and cheap cologne.

Kaiyon's eyes meet Kaire's in the mirror. "So you think the Patriots still got it this year?" Kaire exhales, his fingers drumming once against the armrest.

"Belichick's still got that voodoo, you feel me? Pats are always in the mix."

Kaiyon's laugh is deep and genuine, his gold chain swinging as he nods. "Damn right. I respect consistency." Kaiyon steps back, tilting Kaire's chin up with two fingers to check the lineup. The clippers hum to silence as he sets them on the counter. He grabs a handheld mirror, holding it up so Kaire can see the back.

Kaire nods slowly, running his palm over the fresh fade. "Clean. You still got it, Reeves."

"Always do." Kaiyon pulls the cape off with a snap, shaking the loose hair onto the floor.

Kaire stands up from the chair, brushing a stray hair from his shoulder. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a thick leather wallet. Kaiyon leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, watching him.

The other barber is sweeping up a pile of hair near the entrance, the bristles of the broom scratching against the linoleum floor. Kaire pulls out two crisp twenty-dollar bills and a ten, laying them on the counter.

Kaiyon snatches the bills, tucks them into his ownworn leather wallet, his thumb brushing over the creased edge. "Appreciate it, man." He gives Kaire a quick pat on the shoulder. The gold chain around his neck glints in the warm shop light as he steps back. "But for real, Kaire. Stay focused out there." His eyes flick to the gold 21 pendant at Kaire's collarbone before settling back on his face. "You got a lot riding on this Kush fight. Don't get caught slipping." He crosses his arms again, watching Kaire adjust his fresh cut in the mirror. The shop smells like shea butter and the metallic tinge of clippers.

Kaire nods, his fingers still brushing along the sharp edge of the fade. The shop door jingles as someone else walks in behind him, but Kaiyon doesn't turn around. "I'm locked in," Kaire says, his voice quiet but steady. He picks up his phone from the waiting area table, checking the time.

The screen light reflects in his gold chain as he slides it into his back pocket.

"You ain't even gonna say goodbye?"

Kaire turns back from the doorway, the cold air from outside hitting his fresh fade. He sees Kaiyon standing there, arms still crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

Kaire steps back inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. He raises his right hand, palm open. Kaiyon uncrosses his arms and meets it with his own, their palms slapping together with a sharp crack that echoes in the small shop. They slide their hands into a firm grip, thumbs locking. Kaire pulls his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist and tapping his own chest twice with a soft thump. Kaiyon mirrors him, tapping his own sternum. Kaire completes the handshake, bringing his knuckles up to tap under his own chin before extending them toward Kaiyon. Kaiyon meets the gesture, his gold chain swaying as he taps his knuckles against Kaire's, the sound sharp in the warm shop air. They hold the clasp for a beat, Kaiyon's grip firm but not aggressive, his thumb brushing Kaire's in a brief show of camaraderie.

As they separate, Kaire can't help but grin at the familiar ritual, the smell of shea butter still thick in the air. "Damn, you still got the moves," he says, his words warm with nostalgia. Kaiyon chuckles, his locs swaying as he nods.

Kaiyon: "And you still got the juice, young bull." He steps back, crossing his arms again, his gold chain swinging as he moves. The shop door jingles as someone else walks in, but Kaiyon's eyes stay on Kaire. "But for real though, you know you got that Kush fight on your mind. You been grinding?" His voice is lower now, more serious.

Kaire: He exhales, his fingers drumming once against his thigh. "Every day, bruh. Putting in the work." His gold 21 pendant sways as he adjusts his hoodie. "But you right. That money ain't gonna come easy."

Kaire gives a final nod to Kaiyon, the Nawfside handshake still tingling in his knuckles. "Alright, man. I'm out." He turns and pushes the shop door open, the little bell jingling sharply. The cold November air bites at his fresh fade as he steps onto the sidewalk.

He walks the few steps to his Impala, parked right outside the Northside Plaza Barbershop. The car is a matte black, waxed to a dull shine even under the overcast sky. He unlocks it with a chirp from his key fob, the sound mixing with the thumping bass from a passing Charger.

Kaire slides into the driver's seat, the leather seat creaking as he settles in. The shop door jingles again behind him, but he's already pulling out his phone, thumb hovering over the text box. Kaiyon's messages come through one after the other, bold but smooth, the way only a hustler with a barber's game can be.

"Ya a real one out this muhfucka, G," Kaiyon sends, followed by a second message. "But for real though... you got somebody keeping you warm at night, or you still out here 'thuggin' solo?" The text bubbles show he's still typing, then another message drops: "Hit me back." Kaire can't help but chuckle at Kaiyon's audacity, shaking his head as he starts the engine. The bass from a passing car rumbles through his hood as he pulls away from the curb, the cold November air giving way to the warm hum of the Impala's heater. He glances at his reflection in the rearview mirror, running a hand over his fresh fade before responding.

"Ain't no one keeping nothing warm but my wallet right now," he types, thumbs moving quick over the screen. "And nah, hit you up later. Got moves to make." He hesitates before sending another message:

"Don't be on my ass all day, Reeves."

The messages send with a soft chime. Kaire locks his phone and drops it onto the passenger seat. The Impala's engine hums as he pulls out of the Northside Plaza parking lot, his tires crunching over loose gravel near the exit. He turns left onto Carson Avenue, passing the laundromat with its flickering OPEN sign and the liquor store where two men stand against the brick wall, cups in hand despite the cold.

His phone chimes twice from the passenger seat. He doesn't look at it.

The Impala rolls down First Avenue North, the matte black paint blending into the overcast afternoon. Kaire keeps his eyes on the road, his hands resting on the leather steering wheel. The car's heater blows warm air, a stark contrast to the gray skies outside. He passes the BP gas station on the corner, its red and green logo bright against the dull concrete. A few guys stand by the pumps, hoodies pulled up against the cold, one of them nodding as Kaire cruises past. The Impala's bass system pulses with the low notes of NBA Youngboy, the music vibrating through the floorboard.

His phone chimes again from the passenger seat. He glances over but doesn't reach for it. Kaiyon's been persistent lately, always trying to get him talking about his personal life. Kaire smirks, shaking his head.

That man's got too much mouth sometimes.

He turns onto 23rd Street, passing by the plaza. Even this early in the afternoon, it's already alive with activity.

Kaire pulls out his phone and taps through to Instagram, the screen lighting up against the darkening afternoon. He types Kaiyon Reeves into the search bar, the name popping up in a heartbeat. His profile picture shows Kaiyon from last summer—dreads pulled back, gold chain glinting as he flexes in front of a barber pole outside his shop. The caption reads "Fresh fades only" with a location tag to Northside Plaza Barbershop.

He taps through Kaiyon's latest posts, the feed showing a mix of barber shop life and street hustle. There's a video from three days ago where Kaiyon is cutting hair with a pair of scissors, his dreads swinging as he moves his hands smoothly through the chair. "Keeping it sharp, keeping it fresh," the caption reads. The post has forty-three comments, mostly guys complimenting his work.

He scrolls further, finding a post from last week: Kaiyon standing outside the barbershop, wearing a fitted white tee that shows off his defined shoulders, one hand resting on the brick wall. His gold chain is prominent against the stark fabric, and his expression is confident, eyes narrowed slightly against the sunlight. The caption says simply "Waiting on my moment" with a hashtag #Bhammas.

Kaire doesn't realize how much time has passed until his phone battery drops to 17%.

Kaiyon: He stands behind the counter at Northside Plaza Barbershop, his hands wiping down the scissors with a white cloth. The shop door jingles as an older man walks in for an appointment, but Kaiyon's focus is on his phone. He types with his thumbs, the screen glowing against his dark skin. "Wassup g," he sends first, then adds another message before hitting send. "You free to grab drinks later? Need someone who can hold conversation instead of my clients who just sit there looking pretty." The barber's laugh rumbles deep in his chest as he sets the phone down to cut the next customer's hair.

Kaire: His phone buzzes against the leather passenger seat. Kaire glances over, seeing Kaiyon's name on the screen before returning his attention to the road. The Impala cruises down 23rd Street, passing under flickering streetlights as afternoon shadows lengthen. He doesn't respond immediately, letting the message sit there as he navigates around a pothole near the QuickStop. A group of teenagers in oversized hoodies eye him from the sidewalk, one raising a hand in casual greeting that Kaire acknowledges with a nod.

He finally pulls over at a red light near the plaza entrance, thumb hovering over the text box. "Hold conversation?" he types, smirking at Kaiyon's audacity. "You think I can't handle my liquor?" he continues, then adds a second message: "But I got moves to make first. Don't be waiting up." He tosses the phone back onto the passenger seat and guns the engine as the light turns green, leaving rubber on the asphalt.

The Impala weaves through traffic toward his neighborhood, passing the abandoned car wash where Khalil's crew usually hangs out. Kaiyon Reeves chuckles to himself as he texts Kaire, his thumbs moving quick over the screen. He's behind the barber chair at Northside Plaza Barbershop, clippers buzzing as he shapes up a client's fade. The client—an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair—looks at his phone while Kaiyon works, but Kaiyon's focus is on the screen. "Aight g," he sends, then adds a second message: "Just don't stand me up like last time." The barber shop is quiet except for the clippers and the hum of the shop fan.

Kaire's phone screen lights up with Kaiyon's text against the dark leather of the passenger seat. The Impala idles at a stop sign on a quiet side street, the engine rumbling low. Kaire picks up the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he types, his gold chain swinging as he leans back in the driver's seat.

"Earlier sounded like you wanted more than a drink," Kaire sends, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp in the rearview mirror. He tosses the phone back onto the seat and pulls away from the stop sign, the tires rolling smoothly over cracked asphalt. The phone buzzes against the passenger seat as Kaiyon's text comes through, the screen glowing in the dim interior of the Impala. Kaire exhales, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he reads Kaiyon's response.

"Damn right I do," Kaiyon texts back, his thumbs moving quick over the screen. The barbershop is quiet except for the occasional buzz of a clippers and the low chatter of clients. "But you already know that, g. You just playing with me." He smirks as he taps send, the barbershop mirror showing his reflection—dreads pulled back, gold chain catching the fluorescent lights, eyes sharp with amusement.

Kaire pulls his Impala into the parking lot of a two-story brick apartment complex wedged between downtown high-rises and the red-brick homes of Northside. The building is old but clean, with a flickering fluorescent light above the stairwell. He kills the engine and picks up his phone from the passenger seat, the screen illuminating his face in the dim interior.

He types a message to Kaiyon, his thumbs moving deliberately. "You tryna pull up? Got the spot to myself. We can smoke and drink. No barbershop talk." He hits send, then pockets his phone and gets out of the car.

Kaiyon: His thumbs pause over the phone screen as he finishes another client's fade, the clippers buzzing in his hands. The barbershop is nearly empty, just one other client waiting for his turn in a plastic chair by the window. Kaiyon's gold chain swings as he moves, his dreads swaying with the motion. He looks at the message from Kaire, his mouth curling into a slow smile. "Aight g," he texts back, then sets the phone down to wipe down his scissors. "Give me like thirty to close up here. You got drinks already?" The barbershop is quiet except for the hum of the clippers and the low chatter of the waiting client.

Kaire: His phone buzzes on the kitchen counter as he searches through his liquor cabinet. The modest apartment kitchen has worn linoleum and faded yellow cabinets, but it's clean. He finds a half-full bottle of Hennessy, wiping dust off the label before grabbing two glasses from the dish rack. His gold chain swings as he moves, the 21 pendant tapping against his chest. He pours two fingers into each glass and sets them on the counter.

His phone buzzes again. "Got the basics covered," he texts back, then adds: "Pulling up when?" He glances at the clock above the stove. Kaiyon's thumbs fly over the phone screen as he texts back, his gold chain swinging as he leans against the barbershop counter.

"Now that you got the basics, bet you don't even got no real shit," he teases, his smirk visible in the message. "I'm out in like 15. Don't get too comfortable without me."

Kaiyon finishes up the client's fade with practiced precision, his clippers humming against the customer's head. The shop is nearly empty now, just the flickering fluorescent lights casting a yellow glow over the chairs. Kaiyon rinses his clippers under the sink, water splashing against the metal basin.

The text conversation between Kaire and Kaiyon pauses for a moment as the barbershop door jingles. Kaiyon looks up from his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen. The last message from Kaire is still glowing: "Pulling up when?" Kaiyon smirks, his gold chain swinging as he pockets his phone. He finishes up the last few passes on the client's fade, clippers buzzing against the man's temple.

Kaiyon nods as he steps back from the barber's chair, surveying his work with a critical eye. The client adjusts his new fade in the mirror, examining it from different angles. Kaiyon wipes his hands on a towel and nods to the client, who pulls out a twenty and tosses it onto the counter. "Aight, man, fresh as always," Kaiyon says, his gold chain glinting as he counts out the change. The client pockets the bills and stands, stretching his neck as he admires his fresh cut in the mirror. Kaiyon swipes his phone off the counter, checking the time. "Aight, I'm out," he says to the client, who gives a final nod before stepping out into the cold night. The barbershop door swings shut behind him, leaving only the hum of the shop fan and the dim glow of the neon sign outside. Kaiyon pockets his phone and grabs his jacket from the hook on the wall. He shrugs it on, the leather creaking as he moves. His gold chain swings against his chest as he locks up the shop, the keys jingling in his hand. The cold night air bites at his fresh dreads as he steps onto the sidewalk, pulling his hood up against the wind.

He checks his phone one last time before shoving it into his pocket, his thumbs already moving over the screen. "Pulling up soon," he texts Kaire, then adds: "Better not be thinking about ghosting me." The text sends with a soft chime.

(To Be Continued…)