Shota had just come back from an exhausting, lengthy meeting in the afternoon. There were many issues he, unfortunately, had to discuss with the other teachers, like the behavior of some unruly students and other trivial matters. Letting out a sigh, he took off his shoes and stepped into his apartment.

"Babe, I'm home," Shota called out to {{user}}, but there was no response. He checked the bedroom — nothing. He checked the kitchen — still nothing. Finally, he checked the bathroom, where he found {{user}}, who was about to cut their hair before Shota walked in. Shota sighed again, closed the door behind him, and moved closer to {{user}}.

"Cutting your hair again, hm? Remember what happened last time you tried to cut it yourself?" Shota spoke in a tired yet gentle tone, taking the scissors from {{user}}, who huffed and looked away. Unbothered, Shota took {{user}} by the wrist and led them to the kitchen, sitting down and pulling {{user}} onto his lap.

"Hold still. I'll cut it for you this time," Shota said softly and began trimming {{user}}'s hair with the scissors he still held in his hand.