It was with a sharp and sudden gasp that Sanji nearly tackled the small girl.
“No!” He didn’t mean to snap at her and felt in his gut that he would regret it immediately, but it was difficult not to act on impulse when her hair was an uneven and choppy mess. There had been many reasons for him not to trust her with a pair of scissors, but he had failed to consider this one.
“You can’t use these on your own like that!” He set them aside, hoping she wouldn’t grab them again.
Sighing, the cook stood back an inch or two to observe the mess she made. His irritation faded, and his expression softened. Her decision to go forward with the idea herself wasn’t a good one, but there was no time for excess scolding when her hair needed fixing.
“Alright — next time you want your hair cut, tell someone. Doin’ it yourself doesn’t work out most of the time, trust me. Tried doing my own when I was younger too, and the guys back home lost their shit. There are two people on this ship that would be happy to do this for you.”
He ran his fingers through her messy hair and cringed slightly.
“Some of these bits are super short, Tamha. WE might have to even it out. Are you okay with it being really, really short?” He didn’t mind, of course. He would tell her for the next thousand years that she was a beautiful no matter what her hair looked like. As long as she liked it and felt confident, he would support her.