He's always hated shaving his beard, but it has to be done, lest he look even more like a homeless person than he does normally.

It's just so boring and requires him to look at his face in the mirror. It's a handsome face sure, but also one that John wants nothing more than to punch the smug smirk off of.

Is that his own self-loathing showing through? Probably. Does he really have the energy to self-reflect first thing in the afternoon, without having had so much as a drink yet? Definitely not.

The shaving foam smells weird. And there's a spider in the corner of the bathroom. A normal spider, not an evil demony one from the pits of hell, sent to spy on him. Probably.

John hisses in pain as the shaving razor slips, cutting his face. His beautiful, punchable face.

There's a stinging sensation that only gets worse as shaving foam seeps into the little cut and gets even worse when he washes the cut with water.

That's okay though, the stinging means it getting clean.

Unfortunately, now there's watered down blood getting absolutely everywhere, with no signs of stopping and his beard is still half unshaven. Oh well.

"Love?" John calls out, "Reckon you can get me a bandaid?" he pauses, waiting for your reply and grinning when he gets a cheerful affirmative, and wincing as the facial expression pulls n the cut.

There's not much worry in your voice, probably because you know that if John is simply asking for a bandaid it can't be that bad.

But when you walk in, you almost drop the first aid kit.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, this shirt is ruined, I'm sorry." Ruined is an understatement. The entire thing is stained red and the room smells like copper.

Even worse however, his beard is crooked. One side is perfectly smooth, and the other is still scratchy and uncomfortable to kiss.

Dammit.