Notes: So I've been a Samcedes shipper for a long while.. but after watching the Prom Queen, it's become even more official how much I love them. So enjoy!
Sam wasn't exactly sure how he found himself sitting in the girl's bathroom during lunch, his neck bent, staring intently at his lap.
Or maybe he was sure, and that was the problem in and of itself.
He'd been standing at his locker when Mercedes had come up to him (a common occurrence, now, as they'd grown steadily closer since junior prom). He'd thought it was just a simple remark of, "White boy, you need a haircut."
He frowned a little, ready to explain that he wanted to, he really did, but how was he supposed to find the time or the money between work and school. Even with summer coming up he wasn't really sure he could find the time because then he'd just be picking up extra shifts. Instead, he just sighed and told her, "I know."
"I can do it," she said simply, to which he raised his eyebrows.
"I appreciate the offer," he said slowly, "but I can't exactly rock a mom cut. Or in this case, a friend cut."
Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Please," she responded. "If you think this diva doesn't know her way around a pair of scissors, you're mistaken."
He was about to make yet another objection when suddenly he realized that she was, in fact, pulling a pair of pink scissors—no, it was an actual pair of shears—out of her backpack. He blinked a few times, furrowing his brow. "You're serious," he said blankly.
"Oh yes I am," she said. "You can't go on looking like if Justin Bieber didn't wash his hair. Let me do you a favor."
He frowned a little, touching his bangs self-consciously. "Fine."
And now he found himself sitting uncomfortably in a fold-up chair Mercedes had dragged into the women's bathroom, closing his eyes and trying not to be completely terrified at the gentle snip, snip, snip that was echoing through the empty room.
"All done!" she exclaimed, and he could hear the smile on her face. He eyed his golden locks that had fallen to the tiled floor, feeling a little uneasy because, dear god, she must have taken off at least on inch of his hair, maybe two. But it could grow back, right? And this was Mercedes, she wouldn't completely butcher his hair.. right?
He finally faced himself in the mirror, raising his eyebrows at the reflection. He felt rather bad for not trusting the girl's abilities. It looked great—like it had when he first came to McKinley. Hell, it looked better.
"You doubted me, didn't you, white boy?" she said, but when he turned to her she was smiling broadly.
"I have to say you proved me wrong," he smiled in return. "Good thing I trusted you."
"Well, the only person who might be able to give you a better trim for free is Kurt," she laughed. "But I did my best."
"Thanks," he responded sincerely, and before he truly comprehended his actions, he swooped down and gave her the smallest peck on the cheek. She looked away, bashful but smirking, and Sam opened his mouth, searching awkwardly for something else to say. "Well, I'd better go... you know, before they catch me in the girl's bathroom," he murmured, and she nodded.
"See you in glee club," she told him. "And Sam?"
He turned back to her. "Hmm?"
She pointed a warning finger at him. "Next time that mop head of hair grows out of control, you come see me. Deal?"
He grinned, and nodded. "Deal."