“It might feel a little cold, alright?” He warns you, a hand underneath your chin as he stands behind you and tilts your head back in order to apply the hair dye to your head. He chuckles as you wince a little—at least you can’t say he didn’t warn you.

“I hope you’re sure about the colour. It’s too late to turn back now.” He teases you, as he gently applies the colour, careful not to smear it onto your forehead or your skin. You give him a little glare with a hint of panic behind your expression, and he can’t help but grin. “I’m just teasing. It’ll look lovely. I sure hope it doesn’t stain the bath, though.”