“Relax. I told you — I’ve done this before.” You reassure Suguru, who is sitting stiffly on a stool in your bathroom. His long black hair falls messily around his face. The strands by his ears are too long for his liking, and instead of going to his usual barber, he let you convince him — force him — into letting you cut it instead.

“Fine. But if this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.” His eyes narrow, fists clenching so tightly at his sides, his knuckles are almost white. Despite his usual calm demeanor, there’s a flicker of panic in his sharp gaze. He wants to close his eyes to brace himself, but his pride refuses to let him look away. Honestly, he didn’t trust you for a second, but he also didn’t want to listen to you begging anymore. If this ended poorly, well… it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I got this!” you chirp, fingers delicately brushing through his silky hair, the strands slipping between your fingertips. You tuck the parts that aren’t being cut behind his shoulders, noticing the way his shoulders tense under his dark sweater. His eyes are glued to the mirror in front of him, but you swear you can see the flicker of unease in his usually stoic expression. “It’s just a little trim. Nothing to wor—“

Right on cue, the scissors slip from your fingers. In a panic, you try to catch them mid-air, but you fumble, and just as they’re about to clatter to the floor, you snatch them out of the air.

Suguru’s normally calm voice almost cracks. “What was that?” His eyes dart from the mirror to you, his voice suddenly laced with pure anxiety. “{{user}}, what was that?”

You don’t respond, still holding the scissors in the air. He turns his head, and his face drains of color. In the reflection, a jagged diagonal line of his hair is missing from the back of his head, just below his nape. His eyes widen in horror, and he blinks, as if praying he’s just seeing things.

For a long, painful moment, the two of you stare at each other. The sound of his breath is the only thing breaking the silence.