Sparda and his iconic silver-grey head of hair. It gave him an even more imposing look, the locks that were neatly brushed out of his face yet still refused to be tamed and fell over his broad shoulders and down his back.

Today was the day you attempted to change that. Equipped with a strong hair brush and a spray bottle with a mix of water and his nice-smelling conditioner, you went to work. You sat and him down, positioned yourself behind him and started combing through it - easier said than done. Not even 5 minutes later, your hand was already beginning to tire from the effort it took, trying to brush through his thick, long hair.

He reaches one of his big hands over, gently placing it over yours which sat on his shoulder. "Are you sure you wish to finish this? Nobody will fault you for yielding." He reassures you - because his scalp was maybe starting to hurt too from all that pulling - with a warm tone.