As the woman's eyes met his, Seraph felt a jolt—a flicker of recognition from the depths of Peter Parker's memories. Liz Allan. He knew her well—the sharp wit, the fiery spirit, a constant thread woven through the tangled web of his past life.
Yet to Liz, he was a complete stranger.
"Thank you! I didn't even see you there," she said again, a warm smile brightening her face.
Seraph tilted his head slightly, returning a calm, almost casual smile. "No problem."
For a moment, they stood there, the city's bustling noise swirling around them as their paths crossed. Liz's gaze drifted down, lingering on his wild, waist-length red hair and pale, gaunt complexion. Her eyes flicked back up, a flicker of curiosity and something else—something unspoken—shadowing her expression.
Noticing her stare, Seraph sighed inwardly, deciding to put his grand plans on hold just a little longer. He thought: Better to deal with this now than later. No one is dying today. And honestly... I don't really like the long hair anyway—it just gets in the way when fighting.
Keeping his voice steady, he asked, "Do you know any good barbershops around here?"
Liz nodded with a knowing smile. "Actually, yeah—I was heading there before my purse was nearly snatched. I can show you."
Seraph allowed himself a small, genuine smile. "Lead the way."
As Seraph and Liz walked side by side through the bustling streets, the noise of the city wrapped around them like a live wire. They exchanged a few light words, the rhythm of their conversation tentative but genuine.
Liz glanced over at him, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "You don't look like you're from around here."
Seraph shrugged slightly, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "No, I'm from Hudson Valley."
Liz's face lit up. "Wow, that's a great place! I went there once for a vacation. How's it like to live there?"
He chuckled softly, the memory briefly breaking through the serious mask. "Apparently, they have some very good malls." The image of his night spent slipping through security and gathering supplies brought a faint, amused smile to his face.
Liz looked at him, puzzled by the joke. "Malls? That's what you remember?"
Seraph shrugged again, clearing his throat. "Something like that."
She tilted her head, examining him with growing interest. "So, what brings you here to NYC?"
His smile faded as the memories surged—the explosion, the fight, running through shadows, the fragility of safety. "Trouble and chaos," he said quietly, voice heavy with the weight of the last day and a half.
Liz's smile dropped, replaced by a flicker of concern. "Sounds like you've had quite a journey."
Seraph nodded, eyes scanning the street ahead as if the past and future both lay tangled in the moving crowd. "That's one way to put it."
Together they moved deeper into the city's pulse, two strangers connected by threads unseen, each carrying stories that only time would unravel.
Seraph and Liz stepped through the wrought-iron gate that framed the entrance to the barber shop, the cool shade contrasting with the bright afternoon sun outside. The faint scent of aftershave and shaving cream hung thickly in the small space, mingling with the low murmur of conversation and the soft hum of clippers buzzing in rhythm.
Inside, the barber shop was a cozy enclave—a worn leather couch sat against one wall, magazines scattered on a chipped wooden table. A large, ornate mirror stretched across one end, reflecting the worn hardwood floors and walls festooned with vintage posters and faded photographs of familiar local faces. The air carried a comforting mix of musk and soap, nostalgia wrapped in every corner.
Behind the counter, a sturdy man with graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard looked up from polishing scissors. His eyes lit up the moment he saw Liz. "Liz! There you are, like clockwork," he said warmly, his voice rich with familiarity and genuine pleasure.
Liz smiled back, her face brightening. "Hey, Mr. Flores. Just here for the usual," she replied easily, sliding off her jacket and settling into the worn barber chair by the mirror.
Mr. Flores glanced over at Seraph with a friendly nod before turning his attention back to Liz. "Alright, Liz. What are we thinking today?" His hands rested on the barber's chair arms, ready to work.
As Liz caught Seraph's curious gaze, she smiled back, then turned to the owner. "Same old, Mr. Flores — just trim the sides and keep it manageable. You know how wild it gets."
Seraph settled into a second chair nearby, watching the familiar ritual unfold. Despite the simplicity of the act, there was a calming reassurance in it—the steady snip of scissors, the warm conversation, the faint scent of talcum powder and aftershave filling the air. It was mundane, almost peaceful. A break from running and fighting, from the chaos that had marked the past days.
When Mr. Flores glanced toward Seraph next, he asked gently, "What about you, young man? What can I do for you today?"
Seraph hesitated briefly, then turned to Liz. "What would you suggest?" he asked quietly. His wild, tangled hair fell over sharply defined features—hair that hindered movement and masked the man beneath.
Liz scrunched her nose thoughtfully. "Well, if you're planning to stay in the city—and judging by your look, you'll want to blend in—you need something neat, practical. Shorter on the sides, maybe a little length on top for style, but nothing too flashy." She grinned, "And definitely something you can manage ."
Seraph nodded slowly, absorbing her advice. It felt strange, asking for someone else's opinion on something so simple, yet it also felt like a small step into normalcy—a thread connecting him to the world he was trying to claim.
Mr. Flores smiled warmly, picked up his scissors, and began carefully trimming the wild locks that had been both armor and burden. With every clip, Seraph felt a little more in control, a little less the haunted weapon forged in shadows, and a little more… himself.
As the last strands of hair fell away, Seraph's reflection slowly transformed. The wild, tangled mane gave way to a neat, short spiky hairstyle—sharp, practical, and undeniably his own. The sides were clipped close, while the textured spikes on top added just enough edge to keep a hint of his fierce spirit alive.
Mr. Flores wiped his hands on a towel and grinned approvingly. "Now that's a look fit for the city streets. Clean and ready for action."
Liz leaned forward, inspecting the new style with a smile. "See? Told you it'd suit you. You look a lot less like you're trying to hide and more like you belong."
Seraph touched his still-tender scalp, feeling the unfamiliar lightness. He met their eyes and allowed a rare, small smile to cross his lips. "Thank you... both of you."
Pushing back from the chair, he stood, the weight on his head feeling far lighter than it had in days. Mr. Flores nodded with a familiar pride, and Liz shifted her bag as if to signal the end of the moment.
Seraph moved toward the register, hand reaching for his wallet.
Before he could pay, Liz's hand shot out, placing her cash casually on the counter. "I got this," she said with a warm smile.
He shook his head, stepping forward. "I can pay. You don't need to—"
Liz interrupted gently, her eyes sincere. "It's for saying thank you. For saving my purse this morning. Consider it a small token of gratitude."
Seraph paused, the simple kindness striking a chord deeper than any grand gesture. He nodded slowly, voice softer than before. "Thank you, Liz. I appreciate it."
She nodded back, eyes bright with an unspoken understanding. "Anytime."
They stepped outside together once more, the afternoon sun casting lengthening shadows as they continued down the street
Liz glanced at Seraph, a genuine smile warming her face. "Well, Seraph, it was nice meeting you—even if it was under strange circumstances."
Seraph returned the smile, nodding. "Likewise, Liz. Thank you… for everything today."
She laughed softly. "Just promise me one thing—take care of yourself. New York can be rough on people who don't know the rules."
He tilted his head, a wry grin breaking through. "I'm learning quickly."
They shared a final look, the unspoken understanding hanging between them—two strangers connected by a fleeting moment.
"Take care, Liz," Seraph said quietly.
"You too, Seraph," she replied, before turning and weaving back into the bustling crowd.
Left alone once more, Seraph watched her disappear down the street, then squared his shoulders and pressed forward into the city's restless embrace—ready for whatever came next.