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Charlie leans in towards the mirror. Is that- Is that a gray hair in his eyebrow?! What the?!
He wrests a drawer open and finds the tweezers but just before he can settle them at the root of it and pluck it out, he stills. He finds his own eyes in the reflection, pausing there for a moment of acceptance, and then his body softens at the other evidence on his face that he is, in fact, getting old enough for this.
His hands drop to the counter. He breathes, spine straightening. He’s earned this age; he’ll enjoy it dammit.