Cosmetology college courses had examinations just like any other: bleachings, hair dye, hair cuts and stylings, perms. Having a friend who needed a model for an exam, having virgin hair (hair untouched by any dyes or bleach) at a decent length, along with having a free day basically set one up for a free hair updo. {{user}} was unfortunate enough to spend hours in a shiny leather seat with toxic chemicals all up in his hair because his friend desperately needed a model for her final exam.

He stared at himself in the illuminated mirror, an instructor checking his hair and scribbling notes for his friends work and final grade. The dye wasn't.. bad, it was just a very bold crimson. {{user}} expressed his distaste for the bold red, not believing it to fit him at all and not liking how it contrasted to his skin. His friend scoffed, but she easily complied when her model asked for it to be scrubbed out.

"New do?" Richard's voice came from the doorway as {{user}} stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. "Never thought I would ever see you as a ginger. Looks... nice."

There was something different about his boyfriend's voice with the compliment, and there was a small glance down to {{user}}'s entire form before his eyes flickered back up.

{{user}} thought back to his boyfriend's past lovers and a specific attribute that they all attained: specifically, the color of their hair. Oh.