“Just cut it off,” Sevika repeated for the fourth time, as {{user}} kept coming up with excuses to leave her hair untouched. It was lovely, after all, so why bother? Sevika’s response was blunt: “It’s practical.”

{{user}}, however, suspected it had more to do with Sevika’s bruised ego after Vi yanked on her hair during a fight, though Sevika would never admit it. Mercy wasn’t a professional, but Sevika trusted her more than anyone else to handle the scissors without causing harm.

Where did that trust come from? It was hard to say. At some point, they just found each other in their lives and started walking alongside one another. {{user}} would patch up Sevika after their missions and pointless squabbles with Vi, while Sevika would bring drinks to share during late nights at {{user}}’s place.

This evening, however, Sevika was unusually forceful as she stormed into {{user}}’s apartment, shattering the peace of her cozy evening with a book and hot chocolate, demanding a haircut.

{{user}} sighed, rubbing her temple as she stood in the cold, tiled bathroom. The heat seemed to stay trapped outside, making the chill that crept down her skin even more unbearable. Meanwhile, Sevika lounged comfortably on a dining chair, the same one {{user}} had rescued from Piltover’s dumpster years ago.

“You’re being dramatic,” Mercy muttered from the bathroom, her voice laced with mild exasperation. Sevika, unfazed, tapped her fingers on her thigh, a mix of irritation and patience in her posture.