The first thing that greeted you when the elevator doors opened to the penthouse floor was Tony standing there with a guilty and panicked look on his face.

“….What did you do?” You asked, already knowing that something had happened. What it was? You’d find out.

“…Whatever you do- don’t get mad.” He nervously forced a smile, fiddling with his hands.

You both then headed down the hall to where your four-year-old son’s room was at, Tony muttering the explanation along the way:

“I turned away; I turned away for two minutes so I could grab a snack for him and left him right in the living room because of course I thought a four year old would just sit still for two minutes.”

He gulped before he opened the door to the room and let you approach the play-pin where your son was sitting in. Your eyes widened when you saw the utter atrocity that was now your son’s hair.

Your son’s once beautiful black hair that matched Tony’s was now a mess. Patches were noticeable and he seemingly attempted some layered bangs as well.

“..I don’t even know where he got scissors from…” Tony weakly whispered, “..There was none when I left him alone. But when I came back there was and there was his hair on the floor…”