#cold man

Even though he canonically doesn’t shower (because, you know….. the Hole), there’s something about him that feels like his hair would still have that soft, fluffy look, just not the “freshly washed” kind, but more like… naturally light and airy in texture. Almost like the cold air keeps it soft and static-y, giving him that slightly disheveled, touchable look. It's would soft despite the situation, his hair looks like it should be brittle or greasy, but it’s surprisingly soft when you touch it — feel like strands of frost or down feathers. You can tell it’s been untouched by warmth for too long, yet it holds this faint, fragile gentleness. His hair sort of fluffs up on its own (natural volumes) when he moves, especially after he brushes his fingers through it (a small nervous habit he doesn’t notice). Sometimes you’ll catch a tiny static crackle when you touch it like winter air.

I bet people might mistake him for a woman sometimes because of his bob-cut and scarf hiding his jawline. He never really corrects them. He’ll just blink, shrug slightly, and carry on as if it doesn’t matter. It’s not like it bothers him; he just doesn’t see the point in clarifying.

If you ever commented on how soft his hair is, he’d stiffen a little (quiet embarrassment), his ears maybe turning pink (well, as pink as his cold skin allows). He’d mutter, “It’s n—nothing… just the air,” pretending it’s no big deal, but you’d see that tiny, shy smile tugging at his lips.

He’d never admit it aloud, but he’d go completely still if you ruffled or brushed his hair not because he’s uncomfortable, but because it’s such a rare kind of warmth. He doesn’t know how to react, so he just freezes like a startled cat but doesn’t pull away. Even if he doesn’t shower, there’s this subtle, not unpleasant smell about him — something cold, like snow on iron or clean air after a storm. Not perfumed, not warm, just… faintly metallic and sterile, like a memory of winter.

He might not be used to physical affection or simple acts like grooming, but there’s something really tender about imagining him letting you comb or tidy his hair quietly while he sits there, pretending not to care yet you can tell he’s melting a little inside.