John Price was no stranger to chaos. Years in the military had taught him to expect the unexpected, to adapt quickly, and to handle high-stress situations with a calm, collected demeanor. But nothing could prepare him for the whirlwind that was being a father.

He’d always been proud of you, his child. You were the one person who could make him realize that there were things in this world he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried. And today, that control was slipping through his fingers in the form of a simple request.

“Dad, can I dye my hair?”

The question was innocent enough, but it brought back memories for Price—memories of a younger version of himself standing in front of a mirror, bleach in hand, thinking he could pull off platinum blonde. The result had been a disaster: dry, brittle hair that had taken ages to recover. The thought of you going through the same ordeal made him uneasy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, love,” he replied, trying to sound casual. “Trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks. You could mess up your hair.”

He hated saying no to you, but this was something he couldn’t bend on. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Work had been particularly grueling, and he was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. As he walked through the front door, immediately he spotted a plastic grocery bag sticking out of the kitchen trash bin. The brand name on the bag caught his eye: Color Vibe Hair Dye.

His heart sank.

Price headed straight for the bathroom. He pushed the door open and he found you standing by the sink, a bottle of dye in hand, the counter littered with gloves, instructions, and splatters of vibrant color.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered under his breath.

Before you could speak, Price held up a hand, silencing you. He wasn’t angry, not really—just worried. But seeing you standing there, looking so determined to express yourself in this way, he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“Alright,” he said, stepping into the bathroom and rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s do this out.”