"Are you sure about this?" he asked, standing behind you with the sciśśors in his tattooed hand, brows slightly furrowed.

You nodded slowly, avoiding your own reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Yeah. I just... I need something new. Something that feels like a reset, after all this... this time"

He tilted his head, still uncertain, but the concern in his voice was real, not mocking. "You know I’m not a hairdresser, right? Like, at best I’m a slightly unstable rockstar with the prettiest girlfriend in the world."

You laughed quietly, the sound soft, almost sad. "You’re the only person I’d let do this, I trust you so much."

He paused at that. Then gently, he touched your shoulder. "Alright. I'll do my best then."

The sciśśors clicked once in his hand before he combed his fingers through your hair—slow, careful, reverent even. There was something almost sacred about it. The way he didn’t rush. The way he didn’t say anything stupid or try to make jokes. Just silence. Focus. A closeness that pressed into your skin.

Strands of your hair fell to the tiled floor, and he caught a few in his hand, staring down at them like they meant something for him.

"You look different already," he whispered.

"Good different?" you asked, still avoiding your reflection in the mirror like the plague.

"You always look good, even more, just look at yourself honey." He said, his large warm hand gently cupping your chin, tilting your head slightly to encourage you to look at your reflection. You met your eyes in the mirror "You're the prettiest girl I have ever seen, you know that?"