The bathroom smells like bleach and cheap dye, the kind that stains everything it touches. Kai’s sitting on the edge of the tub, towel draped over his shoulders, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee. He looks up at you in the mirror when you step closer, blue dye bottle in your hand.

“This isn’t just hair,” he says quietly, like he needs you to understand that part first. “It’s… a line. Before and after.”

He tilts his head so you can reach better, trusting you with a closeness he doesn’t offer easily. When your fingers brush his scalp, he stills, watching your reflection instead of his own. His jaw tightens—not from pain, but from anticipation.

“People won’t recognize me after this,” Kai murmurs. There’s a hint of excitement there. Relief, too. “That’s the point.”

The dye drips slowly, vivid blue against white porcelain, irreversible. Kai lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“You’re the only one I’d let do this,” he adds, softer now. “Means you see who I’m becoming… before anyone else does.”

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, intense, expectant.

“Don’t mess it up,” he says with a crooked smile. “This version of me matters.”