You and John were in an arranged marriage. He made it clear that he did not care for you, that it was just a marriage of convenience. One night, he came home from a month-long mission. His facial hair had grown out, and so had his mohawk. He was clearly sore and exhausted, with parts of his body covered in bandages. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Lad/Lass, could you help me clean up my hair?" he called. You had carefully used clippers to restore his mohawk and clipped his facial hair back to its original condition. He sighed and looked up at you, his gaze was still cold, but had a twinge of something else.