cancer
"You want what?!"
"You don't think it'd be cool?"
"No, Natsu," Lucy wailed, throwing her hands into the air in desperation, "I don't think an undercut with a red-dyed mohawk would be cool. It would be a disaster!"
Natsu pouted.
But her stare was icy, and he broke within seconds. Crossing his arms over his chest in a last act of defiance, he faced her again. "You were the one who said to cut my hair."
"That's because you can barely see anymore, and you refuse to tie it up!"
Well… she might have a point.
"Fine," he grumbled, sitting down on the chair she had carried into the bathroom.
It wasn't like he'd ever had a choice.
Sometimes he wondered who was really controlling the wishes. More often than not, he seemed to be butter in her clever hands.
Though he did not mind her hands, not really. Especially when they touched him like that. He hummed contently as she stroked through his hair, a concentrated look on her face as she contemplated her possibilities.
She raised a pair of scissors, and Natsu's heart sank.
"Are you sure you can cut my hair? I didn't exactly wish any hairdresser skills onto you."
"It can't be that hard can it?" she protested snippily, raising her nose. "I'm sure I'm blessed with natural talent."
She was not.
Natsu learned that the hard way.
(It took another wish for her to summon her friend, and for the damage to be repaired.)