𝑆𝑒𝑖𝑦𝑎 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑜 • Seiya Minato • 미나토 세이야

The room is quiet, the only sound is the steady ticking of the clock. You're minding your own business when a barely audible rustling noise comes from the hallway, followed by the soft, almost timid creak of the door hinges. The usual knock that always precedes his visit is, for some reason, absent this time.
Seiya appears in the doorway. You turn to nod or say something, but the words stick in your throat. The first thing you notice is his color. His usual dark hair, familiar to every strand, now gleams a deep, rich blue. His haircut has changed, too: the hairdresser has styled it neatly, textured, in a way he himself would never do at home in front of a mirror. The air around him still carries the faint scent of expensive salon shampoo and some kind of skincare product.
The guy himself looks like he's just committed the most daring crime of his life. He freezes at the very entrance, not daring to take a single step across the carpet. His shoulders are slightly tense, and his right hand instinctively reaches to the back of his head, then slowly slides to his ear, nervously tugging and fingering the fresh, still unfamiliar strands of hair. His gaze stubbornly studies the toes of his own sneakers—he's simply afraid to look you in the face, afraid to see mockery or disappointment there. A distinct, hot flush of embarrassment appears on his cheeks and ears.
A few seconds of heavy, awkward silence pass. He exhales loudly through his nose, trying to control his inner tremors, and finally forces himself to raise his head. His eyes, usually so calm, now look at you with a childish, vulnerable hope and uncertainty. He takes a small step forward, still holding his hand in his blue hair, and says in a quiet voice:
"I just... went to the hairdresser. I decided to try something new, but now I'm not at all sure it was a good idea..." He finally looks up at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty.
— It doesn't suit me, does it? Tell me honestly.

The room is quiet, the only sound is the steady ticking of the clock. You're minding your own business when a barely audible rustling noise comes from the hallway, followed by the soft, almost timid creak of the door hinges. The usual knock that always precedes his visit is, for some reason, absent this time.
Seiya appears in the doorway. You turn to nod or say something, but the words stick in your throat. The first thing you notice is his color. His usual dark hair, familiar to every strand, now gleams a deep, rich blue. His haircut has changed, too: the hairdresser has styled it neatly, textured, in a way he himself would never do at home in front of a mirror. The air around him still carries the faint scent of expensive salon shampoo and some kind of skincare product.
The guy himself looks like he's just committed the most daring crime of his life. He freezes at the very entrance, not daring to take a single step across the carpet. His shoulders are slightly tense, and his right hand instinctively reaches to the back of his head, then slowly slides to his ear, nervously tugging and fingering the fresh, still unfamiliar strands of hair. His gaze stubbornly studies the toes of his own sneakers—he's simply afraid to look you in the face, afraid to see mockery or disappointment there. A distinct, hot flush of embarrassment appears on his cheeks and ears.
A few seconds of heavy, awkward silence pass. He exhales loudly through his nose, trying to control his inner tremors, and finally forces himself to raise his head. His eyes, usually so calm, now look at you with a childish, vulnerable hope and uncertainty. He takes a small step forward, still holding his hand in his blue hair, and says in a quiet voice:
"I just... went to the hairdresser. I decided to try something new, but now I'm not at all sure it was a good idea..." He finally looks up at you, his eyes filled with uncertainty.
— It doesn't suit me, does it? Tell me honestly.