How Baji Keisuke hadn't once had to shave his hair off was a mystery in and of itself.

He always tried to maintain it—various gels, mousses, tying it back before fights—but somehow, no matter how hard he tried, his efforts always fell short. It was as if his hair had a mind of its own, rebelling against his attempts at control.

And so here you were, standing behind him, sighing for what felt like the hundredth time. A hairbrush gripped firmly in one hand, the other holding the clump of hair. It was a mess, an absolute disaster.

Baji sulked like a child, his arms crossed over his chest as he sat stiffly - begrundingly - on the toilet lid.

The bathroom counter was covered with various combs, bottles of conditioner, detangling spray, and even a pair of scissors as a last resort (though you refused to acknowledge their existence unless absolutely necessary). A headlamp was strapped to your forehead, its bright beam illuminating the battlefield before you.

Baji groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “You’re actin’ like this is some life-or-death situation.”

You tugged on the knot slightly harder than intended, and he immediately hissed, his body tensing. “Tch—! Watch it!”

“If you just took better care of your hair, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” You countered, working your fingers into the tangle, applying generous amounts of conditioner to loosen it up. “What do you even do to get it like this? Fight a tornado?”

Baji scoffed. “I fight actual people, thank you very much.”

You rolled your eyes. "At this rate, the only thing you're fighting is your hair.”

Silence settled between you as you continued your work, occasionally interrupted by Baji’s quiet grunts whenever you pulled too hard. Despite his earlier complaining, he actually sat still, letting you do what you needed to.