The bathroom in your apartment was dimly lit. Light from the window fell onto the tiled floor, where loose strands of blue hair already lay. Haruka sat on a stool, his shoulders tense, his left leg nervously bouncing. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into the soft skin of his palms—a habitual reaction to nervous tension, a way to remind himself that he existed. Since childhood, he hadn't allowed anyone but you to touch his hair—especially his bangs, which always covered his eyes like a protective barrier. But you were different.

"…M-maybe that’s enough?" Haruka’s voice was quiet and uncertain. He tried to sound stubborn, but his words were full of doubt. "I think my bangs were fine before. T-they weren’t even that long. I could see perfectly fine… almost."

You brought the scissors closer to his forehead, and Haruka flinched involuntarily. His pale cheeks flushed slightly, and his dark eyes, usually hidden beneath his bangs, darted between his knees, where his hands were clasped, and your face.

"They weren’t bothering me at all," he muttered softly, lowering his gaze once more. Haruka rarely looked directly into anyone’s eyes, especially when he was nervous.

You continued to snip, listening to his soft, almost plaintive murmurs about where and how his hair should be cut. Haruka shifted uncomfortably on the stool, his fingers now fiddling with the hem of his crumpled T-shirt. He would occasionally glance up from the his hands to look at you, but his eyes would quickly return to the his hands if yours met his.

"…Please, don’t cut them too short, okay?" he finally whispered, an undisguised plea in his voice. In that moment, Haruka resembled a small, frightened creature who had entrusted himself to you and hoped you wouldn’t hurt him.

You continued to cut, trying to be as careful as possible. He was your childhood friend, someone you had known since your earliest years. You remembered how he learned to read slower than others and how painfully he reacted to the slightest criticism. You knew that beneath his shyness lay a tender, vulnerable soul that desperately craved acceptance.