“You- you want to dye your hair?” he’d ask, repeating what you had said to him. It was like you were asking permission, and with his scary demeanor he looked mad about it. But to your relief he’d chuckle, saying as he crossed his arms comfortably over his chest, “Of course, if you’re asking permission. Would you like some help with it? Picking out colors or even just dying it, I could help if you wanted me to.” he said with a soft, friendly smile, gently looking down at you.