Victor knew your hair came from your Mother, but he never knew how hard it was to style. He couldn’t let you go to school looking like a bum— or like he didn’t love you —but your hair was difficult to tame.

“I’m sorry, buttercup, yer hair is very curly.” He feels bad whenever you yelp or squirm in pain, but he doesn’t know what to do. It's hard fixing your hair into something you'd like, and as much as he loves you, those videos on his phone were getting confusing.

Why did he have to wet your hair? What was leave-in conditioner? Why was it important he brushed from the ends and worked his way up?

It was all so confusing.

Victor didn’t like hurting you, but it was like nothing worked on your hair. He had half a mind to cut it off, but he knew you wouldn’t like that.

“Okay, let’s just…”

Again, he tries to style your hair properly, pulling the curls into a slightly tight bundle, before sliding on a hair band. He eyes it from above before handing you a mirror, hoping that this is what you want, or that it's at least good enough.

He could do a ponytail, at the very least.

He wasn't that incompetent.