The fluorescent bathroom light hummed above Suguru, casting a stark glow on the mirror. You watched him from your bed, the blue light of your laptop screen reflecting in your eyes. He was pulling his long hair back, the dark strands slick against his scalp as he twisted them into that familiar, effortless bun. It's a ritual you'd seen countless times, a small, almost mundane thing that somehow felt as natural as breathing.

It was late, the campus quiet except for the occasional creak of the old building. You were knee-deep in a history assignment, the dry text blurring in front of your eyes. Your fingers flew across the keyboard, but your gaze kept drifting back to Suguru. He was still fussing with his hair, a tiny crease forming between his eyebrows, and you knew that it wasn't really about the hair, but more about thinking.

He was always thinking.

It’s like this most evenings. One of you ends up in the other's room, homework or not. There’s no need to make conversation, no awkwardness that sometimes comes with silence. You’ve been friends since day one, two awkward, slightly-too-intense freshmen stumbling through their first Jujutsu assignments. You'd clicked almost instantly, a shared understanding blooming between you. Through grueling training sessions, near-death experiences on missions, and late-night cram sessions, you’d forged a bond stronger than any cursed spirit. Best friends.

Suguru finishes securing his bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face. He turns then, leaning against the doorway, one shoulder braced against the jamb. He looks at you, a slightly hesitant expression in his dark eyes.

“Hey,” he starts, his voice a low rumble, breaking the comforting silence. "What would you think if I cut my hair?"