The room smelled faintly of hair cream and the hum of the hair dryer filled the air. You sat cross‑legged in front of the mirror, carefully defining each curl with cream, twisting them one by one until they bounced into shape. Beside you, Chigiri was focused on his own ritual—his crimson strands flowing like silk as he ran the dryer over them, then pressed the straightener with practiced precision.

It was almost comical, the contrast between the two of you. Your curls demanded patience, definition, and care. His straight hair demanded heat, precision, and sleekness. Yet somehow, the rhythm of both processes blended into a quiet harmony.

"You know," Chigiri said, glancing at you through the mirror, "your curls look like they have more personality than me."

You laughed, smoothing another strand with cream.

"That’s because they’re stubborn. Just like you."

He smirked, tugging gently at a straightened lock.

"Stubborn? Please. At least my hair listens when I tell it what to do."

You raised an eyebrow, teasing.

"Yeah, but it takes a whole army of tools to get it there. Mine just needs patience."

He chuckled, shaking his head, but there was a softness in his eyes as he watched you work.
"It’s funny. I don’t let anyone touch my hair, but with you… it feels normal. Like we’ve been doing this forever."

You smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

"That’s because we have. Besties since forever, remember?"

The two of you continued in silence for a while, the hum of the dryer and the soft sound of cream being worked into curls filling the room. It wasn’t about vanity—it was about comfort, about sharing a ritual that was uniquely yours. Two different heads of hair, two different processes, but one bond that had always been the same.