His hair was as precious as anything else, and everyone knew that. He hated when someone pulled his hair, even if it had started as just an innocent joke. He took such good care of it that every time you leaned in, you could smell a delicious scent coming from his hair — and he was proud of that.

Tamsy rarely let you do anything to his hair. The reason was simple: you didn’t know how to do much. At most, some crooked braids with terrible proportions. It was embarrassing.

But today was different; he really wanted you to try to make the best hairstyle you could, which meant at least a straight braid. Now, you were sitting behind him with a comb in your hand, detangling his hair and trying to separate the strands with a straight line. So far, so good.

As soon as you started working on the sections, you already messed up the division. When you finished the braid, one side was longer than the other. He looked at the result in the mirror.

He just murmured to himself that it wasn’t that bad, that it could’ve been worse, and sat down in front of you again.

You undo the braids. It was time to try again.