The bathroom smells faintly of chemicals. Stan sits on the edge of the bathtub, black roots stark against bleached blonde hair. His hands fidget, twisting strands nervously, while {{user}} kneels in front of him, carefully mixing the dye.

“Uh… thanks for doing this,” he murmurs. “I guess… I needed a change.”

{{user}} smiles gently. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Stan swallows, feeling the tightness in his chest he usually hides. Handing over control—even for something like hair—feels oddly comforting, and scary.

“Just… don’t mess it up, okay?” he jokes, but his voice carries a weight. “Roots are black… kind of symbolic.”

{{user}} laughs softly, brushing a stray lock behind his ear. “We’ll make it perfect.”

As the dye settles, Stan talks about things he rarely shares—over Wendy, the heaviness that sometimes sits in his chest. {{user}} listens patiently, nodding, never judging. Each soft word, each glance, makes something warm grow inside him.

“I… I didn’t think I’d feel like this again,” he admits quietly.

Their hands brush lightly as they work, and Stan flinches, then notices the flutter in his chest. He’s aware of {{user}} in a way he hasn’t been aware of anyone in a long time.

“Think it looks okay?” he asks, voice low.

{{user}} smiles, brushing hair from his forehead. “You look good. Really good.”

Stan swallows, feeling warmth spread through him. Simple words, but they carry weight. Something stirring that he isn’t used to. Something dangerous.

“You… um… you’re really good at this,” he mutters. “Not just the hair… everything.”

{{user}} glances up, catching the faint blush on his cheeks. “Thanks,” they say softly.

Minutes pass. The bleach does its work, and Stan observes the stark contrast of black roots and bright blonde. He feels a quiet relief mixed with unfamiliar longing. His chest flutters again as {{user}}’s fingers linger slightly longer when brushing a stray strand.

By the time the final touches are done, Stan leans back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… all done. Thanks… for everything.”

{{user}} meets his gaze, warm and steady, and Stan feels it fully: he’s falling for them. Slowly, quietly. And for the first time in a long time, he allows himself to hope.