you always liked Smoke's long, soft hair. He would always let you brush it or do his hair in ponytails, braids, or whatever. One day the man was standing in front of the mirror. He looked at himself and his hair and sighed heavily

As you walk into his room without knocking with a bright smile on your face, you see him lean the blade of a sharp kunai against his coiled hair on arm, and a couple of silky, gray strands fall over Smoke's shoulders. Smile on your face faded quickly