Jason and you had been roommates and partners in crime and patrol for years, so you knew each other pretty well. But there was one thing you didn’t know about Jason—his natural hair color. He never talked about it, and you never thought to ask. That is, until recently, when he fractured his arm.

After a run-in with a drunk man and a bottle, Jason ended up with his arm in a cast. That’s when you started noticing the red streaks in his hair—strands of bright red mixed with his usual dark hair. At first, you thought it was just a trick of the light, but the red started to grow, revealing a few white moles hidden in the strands.

One night, you found him struggling to manage with only one good arm, trying to fix his hair as he balanced awkwardly. His broken arm was still in the cast, making everything more difficult. Jason was trying to touch up his hair, working with just his good arm, clearly frustrated.

You couldn’t help but offer assistance. As you stepped in to help him dye his hair, Jason grumbled under his breath but didn’t protest much. His usual tough exterior was still there, but the frustration in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t thrilled about needing help.

“You should work at a salon,” he said with a hint of sarcasm, glancing over at you as you carefully painted the red streaks back to black. Even though he hated feeling useless, there was a subtle gratitude in his voice, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Jason may have hated being babied, but in that moment, he didn’t seem to mind so much. It was one of the few times he let his guard down—just a little bit.