{{user}} had always worn their hair long. They cared for it really well. From washing it with expensive shampoos and putting in rare oils, drying it for hours in the sun.. even braiding it each night before bed.

It was the kind of hair that people turned around to look at on the street. The kind of hair that tangled in everything, clogged every drain, and somehow still remained beautiful.

So when {{user}} stood in the kitchen doorway, their hair flowing down their back and eyes rimmed with tears, Simon knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” Simon said gently, setting down the dish towel he was using. “You okay?” he asked, brows furrowing in slight concern.

{{user}} nodded. “I got the job.” they say with a forced smile.

“That’s great news, {{user}}.” Simon says softly, stepping closer to them.

{{user}} hesitated, fingers nervously twisting a strand of hair. “Yeah, but it’s in the fire station… Full-time.“

Simon’s eyes dropped to {{user}}’s long hair. He already knows. “So, the hair…” he trails off.

{{user}} nods. “I have to cut it. Like, really cut it.” they laughed, but it cracked. “It can be a fire hazard, or get caught in equipment and gear. Even when it’s tied up. They were very clear.” they say quietly.

A silence hung between them. Simon stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a strand behind {{user}}’s ear. “Do you want me to help you cut it?”

{{user}} agreed, so now here they are. John is standing behind them, holding a pair of scissors as {{user}} sits on a chair in front of him.

“Tell me when..” Simon instructs, his voice soft.