Suguru was not only a well-mannered and elegant young man, but also very handsome. In a way, so beautiful that it took your breath away. His eyes, lips, body, hair – everything made you look away until your cheeks and even ears were red with embarrassment.

His hair was your weakness: long, smooth, pleasant to the touch – you always wanted to touch it at the most convenient and inconvenient moment. Every time he put his hair in a bun, you wanted to pull off the elastic band and let it down, burying your fingers in the dark charcoal strands. Only, over time, you began to miss some bun on his head. You wanted to see him with a high ponytail, a low ponytail, with pigtails.

Suguru didn't know if you could call it torture, but every time you put him on the bed of your or his College dorm room, he laughed, sometimes snorting, while your fingers worked magic with his hair.

"Be careful," he asks affectionately, when you grab a lock of his hair too tightly and pull at yourself, causing pain, "sweetheart, you don't want me to be left completely hairless, do you?" says Suguru, and then laughs to your grumbling and pleading 'don't twitch'.

He liked it anyway. Even if it hurt sometimes or you were too moody. The result was always great, but the most pleasant thing was your fingers caressing his scalp while you were braiding his hair or anything else.