Author's Note: Just a short one, from this prompt:

"Younger!Metroman finds his first grey hair."

He was really lucky that his hair grew in perfectly sculpted waves.

Really, really lucky, because so far, nothing short of his own fingers or the natural course of time had ever been able to break his hairs, or part them from his skull. Metroman sighed as he ran a hand across his scalp, scrubbing in the shampoo, feeling the tense strands around his fingers. It would probably look horrible if it just grew in normally, and he had only his own nails to cut it - ragged and long and uneven, he'd bet.

Whistling slightly, he rinsed the last of his shampoo out, and fluffed his perfect coif with his fingers. He tugged a little too hard by mistake, and winced as a few strands came loose from his forehead. It didn't really hurt, but he always got annoyed with himself when he wasn't careful about his own strength. If that had been someone else's hair, he'd have yanked a whole clump free. Maybe even taken some scalp along with it. Not good.

The broken strands clung to the wet skin of his palm as he stepped out of the shower, turning off the spray. He blinked down at them, and then did a double-take.


No, it couldn't be. He was way too young for that. Wasn't he?

Metroman discarded two ordinary, slightly wavy dark hairs, and held the third up for scrutiny underneath the bright lights of his expansive bathroom. He saw his own incredulous expression reflected back at him from the wide mirror as he stared at the single, solitary grey hair. It was... a fluke, maybe? His hair had always been perfect. As reliable as his super-strength and super-speed, as natural as lifting his feet off of the ground. Easier than smiling. He swallowed, hard, and just stared for several seconds.

It was nothing. Only one grey hair. Humans went grey all the time, didn't they? Sometimes even when they were as young as he was. Maybe he wasn't human, but he'd always aged more or less like they did. Though, he never really thought very much about it. Time had always seemed incredibly abstract to him, as though it was just another concept that he hovered slightly above and to the left of, like gravity. Or pain. Intellectually he knew it would affect him. Puberty had hit that nail home rather handily. But... still. He was Metroman.

Aging was one of those things that seemed like it ought to happen exclusively to other people.

Curling his hand around The Hair, Metroman found himself leaning forward, checking the other strands in the mirror. They looked fine. They looked just the way they had yesterday. But a grey hair couldn't grow in one night, could it? How long would it take to grow in, anyway? He didn't loose hairs very often.

Sucking in a resolute breath, Metroman let it go. One grey hair. People would think he was vain if they knew he was bothered about such things. And, really, he wasn't. It was just a little tiny hair. Just one insignificant, itty-bitty break in the lifelong streak of an otherwise perfect head full of them.

Opening his palm, Metroman let the strand fall to the bathroom floor, and told himself he wasn't going to think about it anymore.

A month later, he discovered that his perfectly grown, impervious-to-damage locks were also, less conveniently, impervious to Just For Men's as well.