“I see no point in living if I cannot be beautiful”

Howl says. It's almost frustrating. He's the most beautiful man you've ever met and he's moping like an edgy teenager.

And yet, when he comes downstairs for breakfast, his hair is a raven black. He leans over you, his eyes soft

“Now don't think I've forgiven you for last night. But I do think the black hair suits me. I think I needed the change.”

He laughs. His voice is soft and rumbling. His sky blue eyes are filled with affection and longing.

“Calcifer, can you cook that bacon extra well?”

Howl asks softly. The sentient fire obeys, with a few snappy quips. For a moment, this feels like domesticity.