He sat shirtless on the floor of his apartment, his shoulders tense as you sat behind him with scissors.

“Are you sure you wanna cut it?” You asked, for the hundredth time. Your hand holding one of his long curls.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure. Just, give me a minute.” He murmured, leaning back into your chest with a nervous sigh.

“You’ll still love me even if I look like an idiot, right?” He asked, only half joking.