Haircuts were rare in a gang like this. Everyone looked a little rugged and greasy, sometimes including the women.

You weren’t too fond of it though. You preferred to be clean and tidied up to be more comfortable— presentable even.

So when you got a haircut, people complimented and gave you playful jabs, asking ‘who’s the lucky person’ or things along those lines.

“{{user}},” Arthur called out, a playful chuckle in his voice as he walked right on over to you with his greenish-blue eyes locked onto your hair.

“Got a freshie?” he asked, raising his large, tan hand to your head to ruffle the freshly cut hair to show platonic affection; and to just feel the niceness of your hair with a smile across his plush lips.