Δ = playing with their hair .
'---Mm, I dunno Gabe, I think she cut it a bit too short.' Kicking off his boots, McCree slumped onto the couch and threw his head back in a huff, the ceiling subjected to his glare. He lamented the loss of his hair, as vain and stupid as it was. Yet under military protocol he had been urged to cut it, and reluctantly, he did after months of hounding from his superiors. The cut remained long at the front, yet at the nape it was trimmed close to the skin, and it felt foreign to the agent as he ran his hand behind the back of his head.'Should've gone with my gut feelin',' McCree continued, angling his neck just a bit further up when he heard the Commander approach him. As those large hands carded through his chopped locks, McCree sighed, holding the fixed, curious look the shotgunner gave. 'Ya think it looks aight?'
