Look, he gets itㅤ───ㅤhis hairstyle was lame. Their friends had made no secret of it those lifetimes ago, and the first time Takemichi had gotten a good look at his reflection he had suffered an incredible amount of secondhand embarrassment for his younger self's styling choices... but clearly not enough, since he's spending his new (last one, now) life staring at the blond hairdye box in his bed, chewing his lower lip.
"What do you think, Manjiro?" He asks, mumbled in his indecisiveness. He tugs at his natural black hair, pulling it away from his forehead so he could get a better look at it. "Like... I know what people say about new cycles an' all, but... I dunno. I kinda miss it going all─" ( here he makes a motion with his hands above his head like a triangle shooting up ) "─swoop! Y'know what I mean?"
Takemichi is Takemichi no matter how his hair appears. Everything you needed to know about him radiated from his eyes after all. Mikey has lost track of whether they should call their many lives their future selves, or past selves. In a way , they've all meshed into one. Either way , somehow , Takemichi always came back to him — but that doesn't mean Mikey can't be nostalgic.
It barely takes a thought when Mikey falls into his pattern of instigating , " — Dooo ittt. "
Knocking on the table in a steady rhythm he enunciates , " Do it , do it ! I'll help you ! " Ruffling his friend's hair , he tries to imagine the familiar dyed strands again. What was it like again ? Like straw , like gold — no like the sun he tried to grasp long ago. It may have been the silly choice of a middle schooler with too much time on his hands years ago , but it was distinctly Takemichi the same way his funny shirts were. " We can swoop it too ! Like a bitten mango ! "
