The dim corridors feel colder than usual. Mr. Crawling sits motionless on the concrete floor, his newly shortened hair no longer cascading around him like before.

You’d thought he wanted this. He’d nodded, smiled that eternal smile. But now…

His head tilts down, fingers slowly reaching up to touch the cut strands. They barely reach past his ears now. He runs his cold hands through the shorter length again and again, as if searching for what’s missing.

“Me… hair… gone.” His voice is quieter than usual, that broken speech somehow heavier. “Me… not like.”

He doesn’t look at you. His smile remains; it always does—but something in his stillness feels wrong. Sad. His shoulders curve inward slightly.

“You… cut too much. Me…” A pause, his head shaking slowly. “…Me not pretty now.”

He finally lifts his eyeless face toward you, and despite the permanent grin, there’s an unmistakable disappointment in how he shrinks back slightly when you reach for him.

What do you do?