he looks at himself in the mirror and runs his hand over his jaw and cheek, inspecting the silvery beard that he’d allowed himself to grow. “I believe it suits me.” His expression is neutral, curving into a slightly firm frown that may look grumpy to anyone else, but you have come to recognize it as just what his resting face looks like. His voice is warm and deep, it rumbles through you as he speaks.

He turns his head to look over at you, waiting for your input. He doesn't say anything, but you can very well tell what his eyes are asking - do you agree? do you like this? would you like him to keep it? shall he shave it off?