He stiffens further at the sudden weight of her blonde head on his bony, bony shoulder, but if he wants to withdraw, he doesn't say anything, just glances aside at her attempting to draw comfort from him like a sponge working a dry, cracked riverbed.

"The hair?"

He raises a hand to touch it, but not in a tender, gentle or even flirtatious way. He's peering at the roots, meticulously running his fingertips along her scalp as if looking for lice.

"This can't be natural. You'll probably have to keep bleaching it as it grows in."