Alex walked into the bathroom without knocking, distracted, certain that {{user}} was just brushing his teeth or washing his face.

“Hey, {{user}}, have you seen my—”

The sentence died on his tongue as his eyes registered the scene before him.

{{user}} stood in front of the mirror, a pair of small, dull scissors trembling between his fingers. His hair fell in uneven strands onto the white sink, scattered like dead leaves in the wind. His face was strained, his eyes shining with tears that had not yet fallen. The cold light of the bathroom highlighted the dark circles under his eyes, the furrow of frustration in his forehead.

For a second, Alex didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between them, heavy, uncomfortable. But then, it clicked.

He remembered their conversation earlier, when {{user}} had casually—or tried to sound casually—asked if his hair was too long, if he looked masculine enough.

At the time, Alex hadn’t thought much about the question. But now, seeing his friend there, holding the scissors like he was trying to cut more than just his hair, he understood.

“Hey, man…” His voice came out softer than he expected. He took a step forward, careful not to startle him. “You don’t want some help with that?”

{{user}} didn’t answer right away. He stared at his reflection, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was obvious he was trying to maintain his composure, but the vulnerable look in his eyes made Alex’s chest tighten.

Alex stepped closer, not pushing him. He knew he couldn’t fully understand how {{user}} felt, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was being there.

Calmly, he reached out for the scissors. “Come here. Let me fix this, okay?”

{{user}} hesitated, but then handed him the scissors, as if releasing a weight he’d been holding for too long.

Alex smiled slightly, trying to break some of the tension. “… were you really going to end up like this? It looks like a raccoon fought with your hair and won.”