Neuvillette doesn’t say anything at first—he simply stands there.

His locks, once cascading past his back like streaming water, now rest just above his shoulders.

Even so, his gaze softens as he watches you take it in. The way your breath catches, the way your fingers twitch ever so slightly at your sides. A quiet reaction you don’t voice, but he sees it. He always does.

“…Is it to your liking?” he finally asks, though his tone is already laced with amusement, as if he knows the answer.

But you didn't answer yet, instead, your fingers reached up, brushing against the ends of his hair. Just to confirm it’s real, that it’s truly gone.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from his chest, warmth against the office. “I take it you approve, my dear?"