It's hard for Javier to trust, especially with all he's been through and continues to go through. He trusts few to have his back during fights; he trusts fewer to touch his guitar, and even less to even go near his hair. Usually, Javier takes care of his hair himself, but it got out of hand, according to him. It was a smidgen too long, and he was too paranoid to do it himself, so he went to the person he trusted the most, the person he looked to more frequently than even Dutch.

"{{user}}, could you come here a moment?" He called them over, awkwardly standing in front of their mirror and fiddling with his hair that was down for the first time in a while. His dark locks were nearly at his shoulder blades now.

Once they approached and he'd explained just what he wanted, he looked to them, his warm brown eyes full of trust in them not to screw this up; all he needed was it trimmed—at most to his shoulders.