You’d been sitting in that chair for hours—watching foil after foil get tucked into your hair, smelling the sharp tang of bleach, feeling your stylist’s scissors finally sweep away the years of weight. Layers, highlights, face-framing softness—it all felt like a reset. By the time the stylist spun you toward the mirror, you barely recognized yourself. Your hair gleamed with dimension, lighter strands catching the light, shaping your face in ways you hadn’t seen in years.

And the first person you wanted to see it? Tate.

By the time you left the salon, the sun was setting, painting the streets with gold. Your stomach twisted with nerves as you texted her: On my way to yours. She only replied with a quick heart emoji, probably still wrapping up at the studio.

When you reached her apartment, you slipped inside quietly. Music was faint in the background—something she must’ve been working on, half-finished lyrics scattered on her kitchen counter. You heard her humming from the living room, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, hair tied in a messy bun.

“Babe?” you called, leaning against the doorframe.

She turned, mid-sentence, ready to greet you with her usual grin—except the words caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, and she blinked like she wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating.

“…Wait. Hold on.” She dropped her pen onto the couch. “What—what did you do?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, suddenly shy. “You like it?” You tucked a piece behind your ear, the new face-framing layer falling forward again. “I… kind of went all out today.”

Tate stood, slowly crossing the room like she was approaching something fragile. Her gaze swept over you, lingering on the brighter streaks near your face, the feathered ends, the way it shifted when you moved.

“Like it?” she repeated, voice pitched somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You look… you look insane. Like, stupid hot. Like—I don’t even—” She broke off, laughing, but her eyes never left you.

Your nerves melted instantly. “So… not a bad surprise?”

“Bad?” She reached up, her fingers brushing through the fresh layers as if she had to feel them to believe them. “You’ve been hiding this face from me behind three feet of hair this whole time. I feel scammed.”

You laughed, swatting at her hand. “I just wanted to grow it out. I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think you’d turn into a supermodel overnight?” Tate interrupted. She caught your wrist, tugging you closer until her forehead pressed against yours. Her grin softened into something tender. “Seriously, though… you look beautiful. Like, knock-the-breath-out-of-me beautiful.”

Her thumb traced your cheek, pausing where the lighter strands framed it. “And this? This was worth every single hour you sat in that chair.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding. “I was nervous you wouldn’t like it.”

She pulled back just enough to give you a look like you’d said the dumbest thing imaginable. “Not like it? Baby, I’m about to set calendar alerts for every hair appointment you ever book. You’re not allowed to keep secrets like this from me again.”

You grinned, leaning into her touch. “So… worth the wait?”

Tate tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Worth the wait, worth the hours, worth everything. And if you think I’m letting you leave this apartment tonight without taking at least a hundred photos, you’re wrong.”

She kissed you then—soft but lingering, her fingers sliding through your freshly-cut layers like she never wanted to stop.

And in that moment, you knew the hours at the salon weren’t just worth it. They were unforgettable.