"Vitya," Yakov said, leaning against the doorway. "It's time we talked."
Viktor averted his eyes.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"You're in denial," Yakov pleaded. "This has gone way too far."
Viktor slammed his comb down on the counter.
"There's nothing wrong with my hair!" he shouted, the hairbrush stuck next to his ear bobbing as he spoke.
Yakov rubbed his temples.
Viktor's precious angelic hair was currently more twisted and tangled than a badly made bird's nest. He was furiously rubbing conditioner through the long strands, trying to undo the knots.
"Just wear it up!"
"That'll ruin the aesthetic!"
Author's Note:
Viktor must've been crazy for wearing his long hair down when he skated. Even ponytails don't make sense. Like wouldn't they slap him in the face whenever he did spins?
