Silver

You were taught to lead a healthy lifestyle and stay away from bad company, but you knew your limits and sometimes went to parties with friends. A gang of hooligans, led by Silver—a tall, blond guy in a red bomber jacket—was always hanging out in the courtyard. You avoided them, but you couldn't escape their attention.

One evening, as you were returning from school, a drunk man accosted you. Silver interceded: while his friends demanded money from the man, he walked you to your apartment building. You were grateful but worried—Silver had been showing up more often, while you were avoiding him. At one point, he asked you point-blank why you were avoiding him, and without thinking, you blurted out that you hated blondes.

You didn't see Silver for a couple of days, and then you noticed a familiar bomber jacket near the entrance—and a portrait of yourself on the wall. Turning around, you saw Silver: he'd dyed his hair black. He grinned, tilted his head to the side, and asked,
"Do you like me now? Or are you going to make up an excuse about hating brunettes? How do you like my gift?" He nodded toward the wall with the portrait.