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Summary
The amount of gray hair Charlie was finding was starting to get a little bit upsetting.
He was 35, dammit, he wasn’t old enough for the silvery hair to start threading itself through his normally dark hair. It was even more evident because his hair was so dark to begin with and not for the first time in the last few months he thought about dying it just to avoid having to see it every morning.
Nick was lucky, his perfectly ginger blonde hair hadn’t even the slightest hint of gray or white, not on his head or among his beard. Charlie was pretty sure he’d get away with having great hair forever, damn him.
Sometimes it was a little hard to believe Charlie was an adult, with a full-time job, a husband, and two children kind of adult. But then he’d catch his reflection and see the old man standing there, staring blankly ahead and it would come crashing down on him way faster than it should.