it’s hard for him to stay still.

the quiet snip of scissors, wisps of hair tickling his nose as they fall. you like his long hair, but his bangs have begun to cover his eyes. he has to push them up when he’s going down the stairs, and when he kisses you, they sometimes brush against your eyes.

you cut his hair carefully.

you had asked him to go to a salon at first, but it had started raining and he had told you he preferred to stay in your apartment.

even if you butcher it at least the mess is yours.

you pause, for a moment. admire him. he looks nice; it frames his face softly.

“do you like it?” he queries. of course you do. you find it sweet he cares.