✚⣾ 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗂𝖾 ⣾✚

You wake up slowly.

Not peacefully.

Not gently.

No...

You're sweating.

Like… actually sweating.

Your brows pinch together as you shift slightly, trying to figure out why it feels like you've been wrapped in five blankets and tossed into the sun.

And then it hits you.

Oh.

Right....

Katsuki and Izuku.

Both.

Attached to you.

Katsuki is pressed against your back, one arm thrown over your waist, his chest radiating heat like a literal furnace. His leg is hooked over yours, effectively trapping you.

And in front of you?

Izuku.

Curled into you, face tucked into your chest, arms wrapped around your middle like you're a body pillow he refuses to lose.

He's not as bad as Katsuki…

…but he's still warm.

Very warm.

You are in the middle.

Of two grown men.

Who both run hot.

And neither of them are letting go.

"…I'm gonna die." You mumble, voice hoarse with sleep and suffering.

No response.

Of course not.

They're knocked out.

You try to wiggle your arm free.

Katsuki's grip tightens instantly.

Still asleep.

"Stop moving.." He grumbles.

He's not even conscious.

You stare at the ceiling in disbelief.

"Are you serious right now..."

You try the other direction.

Slowly, carefully, you shift your leg, trying to slide it out from under his.

Izuku reacts this time.

A soft, sleepy noise leaves him as he pulls you closer.

Closer.

"mmm... no…" He mumbles into your shirt.

You freeze.

"…I'm literally overheating.." You whisper, betrayed.

You attempt strategy.

Small movements.

Careful.

Calculated.

You inch forward just enough to maybe slip out of Izuku's hold just for katuski to pull you back.

Hard.

You let out a quiet, frustrated noise.

"Stop kidnapping me in my sleep!" You mutter.

You try again.

This time, you push gently against Izuku's shoulder.

"'Zu… baby… please…"

He hums.

Nuzzles closer.

You can feel the heat.

"Oh my god.." You whisper. "You're both insane.. How are you both even sleeping like this?!"

Another attempt.

You brace your hands against the mattress and try to scoot up andddd Katsuki's leg tightens.

Izuku's arms tighten.

You are now fully pinned.

"…This is how I go." You sigh dramatically. "Taken out by two human heaters."

Katsuki cracks an eye open.

"You're dramatic.." He mutters.

"You're hot." You shoot back immediately.

He smirks, half-asleep. "Yeah, I know."

You smack his arm weakly. "Not like that, asshole! I'm melting! I'm swimming in my own sweat!"

Izuku stirs next, blinking sleepily.

"Are you okay?" He asks softly.

"No." You say flatly. "I'm being slow-cooked..."

They both pause.

Process.

Then Katsuki huffs. "Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"I TRIED TO ESCAPE!" You whisper-yell.

Izuku immediately loosens his hold, sitting up a bit. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry baby.. Are you too warm? We can open a window or something.."

Katsuki rolls his eyes but shifts too, pulling his leg off you.

Cool air hits your skin.

You nearly cry.

"Oh thank god..." You breathe, dramatically collapsing back onto the mattress. "Freedom."

There's a short silence.

Katsuki grabs your wrist.

Izuku grabs your other arm.

And before you can react they pull you right back in.

"HEY—"

"Relax." Katsuki mutters, adjusting so there's a bit of space this time.

Izuku props himself up, brushing your hair back gently. "We'll try not to overheat you this time…"

You narrow your eyes.

"…Try?"

Katsuki smirks. "No promises."

But this time there's a little space.

A little airflow.

Just enough.

You settle back between them, still warm, but not dying anymore.

"…If I wake up sweating again, I'm kicking both of you out to the living room." You mumble.

Katsuki snorts.

Izuku laughs softly while kissing your temple mumbling a "Sorry baby."

Without meaning to, he'd find himself picturing you standing in front of the mirror, carefully smoothing the fabric over your shoulders before gathering your hair into one hand so you could inspect the back of the dress. The image would appear so vividly that he'd immediately shut it down, clearing his throat under his breath as though scolding himself, "get a grip."

By the time you finally called his name and admitted you couldn't quite reach the zipper, he'd already spent the last several minutes mentally rehearsing a perfectly normal compliment, only to decide every single one sounded awkward. After knocking once and quietly asking if he could come in, he'd ease the door open just enough to step inside before carefully closing it behind him.

The moment his eyes found you, every sentence he'd practiced vanished without a trace. His gaze settled on the elegant dress before lingering for a heartbeat on the way it suited you so effortlessly, making it impossible to tell where the beauty of the gown ended and your own began. "Oh." The word escaped before he could stop it. He blinked once, twice, then immediately rubbed the back of his neck, visibly flustered. "I—wow, you..." His brows furrowed as he struggled to reorganize his thoughts. "No, hold on, I mean," another awkward pause. "The dress looks really nice— uh, by that I mean It looks nice because you're wearing it. Not that the dress isn't nice by itself, it's just..." He sighed, briefly covering his face with one hand. "Can we pretend I didn't say any of that?"

His ears had already turned noticeably red by the time he gestured toward the zipper. Waiting until you lifted your hair over one shoulder, he'd quietly step behind you, taking a noticeably deeper breath before gently taking hold of the tiny metal zipper. Despite the confidence with which he handled weapons or difficult missions, here his movements became almost painstakingly careful.

He drew the zipper upward little by little, making absolutely certain not to catch the fabric or accidentally brush against your skin more than necessary. Once the zipper rested neatly at the top, Lohen instinctively smoothed the fabric across your shoulders before taking a single step back to admire the finished result. The intention lasted all of two seconds.

Almost as though acting on instinct rather than thought, he closed the distance again, slipping his arms comfortably around your waist from behind and drawing you gently against him. His face disappeared into the crook of your neck as he absentmindedly pressed a trail of soft kisses there, completely unfazed by your increasingly amused complaints that he was supposed to step back so the two of you could actually look at the dress.

He merely smiled against your skin, tightening his embrace just enough to keep you from escaping before finally lifting his head to meet your eyes through the mirror. "Sorry," he'd murmur with quiet satisfaction. "I just couldn't help it." His gaze would wander over your reflection once more, the fond smile on his face making it painfully obvious he'd long forgotten about the dress itself. "You look too breathtaking."

The moment you teasingly reminded him that he'd been stumbling over every other word only moments ago, he'd freeze for the briefest second before quietly clearing his throat, his ears immediately betraying him with the faintest shade of red. Rather than dignifying your observation with a response, he'd simply act as though he hadn't heard a single word, wearing an expression of complete innocence that fooled absolutely no one.

Releasing you from his embrace with far more composure than he actually felt, he'd casually reach for the dressing room door and hold it open, waiting for you with one hand in his pocket as though nothing embarrassing had happened whatsoever.

Only when you walked past him with an unmistakably amused smile would he avert his gaze for a moment, muttering a quiet, "We should probably go," before leading the way out, stubbornly maintaining the act of selective hearing for the rest of the evening no matter how many times you brought it up.

── ( 𝒗. ) varka would have absolutely no trouble waiting outside the dressing room, though waiting quietly would be another matter entirely. He'd spend the time chatting with passing attendants, making exaggerated guesses about which dress you'd chosen, and joking that he'd been standing there long enough to earn honorary employment.

Every now and then he'd catch himself wondering which dress you'd settled on after trying on several different ones, remembering the little smile you'd worn whenever you found one you particularly liked.

The anticipation slowly replaced the playful impatience and then he'd wander toward the door, only to stop himself with an amused chuckle before wandering back again, reminding himself that if he peeked, you'd probably never let him hear the end of it. The moment your voice finally called his name and admitted you couldn't quite reach the zipper, however, every bit of that carefree teasing softened into something unexpectedly gentle.

He'd knock once before opening the door just enough to step inside, closing it behind him with surprising care. The second he looked up, he simply... stopped. Whatever witty remark had been sitting on the tip of his tongue disappeared completely. His eyes lingered on you in quiet admiration, a broad, unmistakably lovestruck smile slowly spreading across his face as though he couldn't quite believe the sight in front of him. "Well," he'd breathe with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're making it awfully difficult to remember why I came in here."

Instead of immediately helping with the zipper, he'd instinctively wander closer until there was barely any distance between the two of you, his hands naturally finding your waist as though they'd always belonged there. Before you could even ask what he was doing, he'd grin and lean down to pepper your forehead, temple, and cheek with several affectionate kisses, laughing every time you whined his name in mock protest.

"Varka!" you'd complain through your laughter, trying to nudge him back. "The zipper." "Hm?" he'd answer with the most innocent smile imaginable before stealing one last quick kiss anyway. "Right. The zipper."

Only then would he finally step behind you, waiting patiently while you gathered your hair over one shoulder before carefully drawing the zipper upward with hands remarkably gentle despite their size.

Once it reached the top, he'd glide his fingers and fix the fabric where it rested against your shoulders before stepping back with both hands planted proudly on his hips, admiring you without the slightest attempt to hide it. "Now that's the woman I'm lucky enough to take out tonight." Without another word, he'd hold out his hand with the same effortless confidence he'd worn since the day the two of you met, already eager to show you off to the rest of the world.

── ( 𝒄. ) childe would've been far more invested in your shopping trip than he ever intended to admit. While waiting outside the dressing room, he'd spend the time making increasingly ridiculous guesses about which dress you'd chosen, confidently declaring he already knew exactly what you'd come out wearing before immediately changing his answer the next minute.

Every now and then he'd wander close enough to ask if you were still alive in there, only to quickly add, "take your time! I'm not rushing you!" after realizing how impatient that probably sounded. He'd even find himself grinning whenever he heard you moving around inside, quietly imagining the excitement on your face if you'd finally found the dress you'd been hoping for.

By the time you finally called his name and admitted you needed help with the zipper, he was already reaching for the handle before catching himself. "Can I come in?" Waiting for your answer, he'd step inside expecting to help for all of ten seconds before leaving again.

Instead, the moment he saw you, the rest of the world simply ceased to exist. He stopped where he stood, his bright blue eyes widening ever so slightly as they slowly wandered over the dress with open admiration. His attention wasn't fixed on any one detail, it was the complete picture before him that stole every coherent thought from his head.

He noticed the way the color complemented you, the way the fabric moved whenever you shifted your weight, the small smile you wore while waiting for his opinion, and how effortlessly the entire dress seemed to belong on you. Without realizing it, he remained standing there in complete silence, smiling to himself like someone who'd forgotten why he'd walked into the room in the first place.

"Wow," he murmured under his breath, almost to himself. "You..." The sentence never continued. He simply kept looking, entirely captivated until your amused voice finally pulled him back to reality. "Ajax." He blinked once before meeting your eyes in the mirror. "Hm?" You laughed softly, pointing over your shoulder. "My zipper. My back's getting cold." Realization struck him all at once. "Right!" He rubbed the back of his neck with an embarrassed laugh, unable to hide the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. "That's... actually why you called me in here."

Quickly recovering, he'd step behind you, gently asking you to move your hair before carefully taking hold of the zipper. His fingers, so accustomed to wielding blades and bows, became unexpectedly delicate as he slowly drew it upward, making certain not to catch the fabric. Once it rested neatly at the top, he'd smooth the back of the dress almost absentmindedly before taking a small step back to admire his work. The distance lasted only a heartbeat.

As though drawn back without thinking, he'd circle around until he was standing in front of you again, his smile growing softer the longer he looked. His hands would naturally find your waist before one drifted up to gently cup your cheek, tilting your face toward him just enough for him to steal a lingering kiss from your lips.

Even after pulling away, he wouldn't wander very far, his affection quietly overflowing into a few light kisses along your cheek before they inevitably trailed toward your neck. The moment you laughed and gently protested, "Ajax, not here," he'd stop immediately, though not without letting out an exaggerated, playful whine, his forehead dropping lightly against yours as a quiet giggle escaped him. "But you're too pretty," he'd complain dramatically with unmistakable amusement. "How am I supposed to resist when such a beautiful angel is standing right in front of me? You're making this incredibly difficult for me, you know." His gaze would wander over you once more, only for a new realization to slowly settle across his features. The playful smile would falter into exaggerated disbelief before he let out a dramatic sigh, resting his chin briefly atop your head as though mourning his own fate. "Oh, no." When you asked what was wrong, he'd simply look back at your reflection in the mirror, narrowing his eyes with mock suspicion. "I just realized everyone else is going to see you looking like this too." Folding his arms with theatrical indignation, he'd shake his head as though arriving at the most unfortunate conclusion imaginable. "I don't like that very much. They're all going to stare... and honestly, I can't even blame them." A quiet laugh escaped him before he leaned down to steal one last quick kiss from the corner of your lips. "Looks like I'm staying glued to your side tonight. Strictly for security reasons, of course."

He'd insist with the most innocent smile he could manage, though the unmistakable fondness in his eyes made it painfully obvious that his playful jealousy had less to do with protecting you from strangers and far more to do with the fact that, in his admittedly biased opinion, the rest of the room simply didn't deserve the privilege of admiring you the way he did.

── ( 𝒘. ) wanderer would insist from the very beginning that shopping was a waste of time, spending most of the afternoon leaning against whatever wall happened to be closest with his arms folded, looking thoroughly unimpressed by every boutique the two of you stepped into. He'd quietly question why anyone needed to try on five dresses just to choose one, clicking his tongue every time another sales associate cheerfully informed you there was 'one more color' you simply had to see.

Even then, despite all the complaining, he never wandered off. Whenever you disappeared behind the dressing room curtain, his attention would unconsciously drift toward it every few moments before he deliberately forced himself to look elsewhere, pretending to study decorations on the opposite wall or glaring out the nearest window as though he couldn't possibly care less. He'd hear the occasional rustle of fabric from inside and immediately scowl at himself for listening in the first place, silently reminding himself that whatever you were doing in there was none of his business.

By the time your voice finally called his name and admitted you couldn't quite reach the zipper, he'd answer with an exasperated sigh that sounded far more annoyed than he actually was. "You really are troublesome." Even so, he'd still knock once before opening the door, waiting just long enough for you to tell him to come in.

The moment he stepped inside, however, every sarcastic remark vanished. He stopped several paces from the doorway, his expression remaining almost perfectly composed save for the smallest widening of his eyes. His gaze instinctively settled on you before quietly taking in the dress as a whole, the elegant silhouette, the way the color suited you far better than anything he'd expected, and finally the glimpse of your bare back where the unfastened zipper waited.

He looked away almost immediately afterward, clearing his throat with visible irritation toward himself more than anyone else. Several seconds passed before he finally managed to mutter, almost under his breath, "It suits you." The compliment sounded reluctant, as though he'd had to physically drag it out of himself, yet there wasn't a trace of insincerity behind it.

Without another unnecessary word, he'd gesture for you to move your hair over one shoulder before quietly stepping behind you. His hands, so often associated with combat and destruction, became surprisingly careful as they found the tiny metal zipper, drawing it upward in one slow, steady motion while making certain not to catch the delicate fabric.

Once it reached the top, he'd instinctively smooth the material where it rested against your shoulders before immediately pulling his hand away, almost annoyed that he'd fussed over such a small detail without thinking. Taking several measured steps backward, he'd fold his arms once more, intending to leave before the silence became awkward.

Unfortunately for him, the moment you turned toward him with an expectant smile, every intention of making a quick escape disappeared. His gaze lingered again, longer this time, until you finally laughed and asked, "Well?" He clicked his tongue, visibly refusing to admit he'd been staring. "What?"

When you teased that he'd gone unusually quiet, he'd simply scoff, turning his face away in a failed attempt to hide the faint warmth beginning to creep across the tips of his ears. "You're imagining things."

Yet before opening the door, he'd pause with his hand resting against the handle, glance back over his shoulder, and quietly return to you without explanation. Two fingers would gently tilt your chin upward before he placed the briefest kiss against your lips, so quick it almost felt accidental. "Don't read too much into that," he'd mutter immediately afterward, opening the door before you could answer. "And stop smiling like that."

Of course, the fact that he slowed his pace outside the dressing room until you caught up beside him, silently taking the shopping bags from your hands without being asked, made it painfully obvious that his actions had already betrayed every word he'd tried so stubbornly to hide.

── ( 𝒍. ) lyney would have turned the entire shopping trip into an event long before either of you reached the dressing room, even declaring himself your 'official consultant.' Rather than waiting quietly, he'd enthusiastically follow you from rack to rack, offering wildly dramatic opinions about every dress you held up while somehow making even the most ordinary fitting room feel like backstage before a grand performance.

The moment you disappeared behind the curtain with the dress you'd been eyeing for weeks, he'd lean casually against the wall outside, smiling to himself every time he heard you moving around inside. Every few minutes he'd call through the curtain door with another playful remark, asking whether he should prepare himself to witness Fontaine's newest fashion sensation or whether you were secretly planning to emerge disguised as someone else entirely.

Beneath all the teasing, however, he was genuinely excited. He'd caught the little sparkle in your eyes the first time you picked the dress off the rack, and more than anything, he wanted to see that same expression once you finally had it on.

When your voice eventually called for him, admitting you couldn't quite reach the zipper, his grin would soften almost immediately. "Your magician is on his way." Even then, he'd politely knock before opening the door, expecting to step inside, help for a few seconds, and leave. Instead, the instant his eyes found you, he forgot how to move.

His confident stride slowed to a complete stop as quiet admiration replaced every rehearsed joke he'd intended to make. He smply stood there, smiling in silence while his gaze wandered across the dress, noticing every elegant little detail before inevitably settling on your reflection in the mirror.

The sight of you absentmindedly holding your hair over one shoulder while waiting for him somehow felt more captivating than any elaborate stage performance he'd ever witnessed. "Well," he breathed with a soft laugh, shaking his head in quiet surrender. "I suddenly understand why you took so long."

Recovering just enough to remember why you'd invited him inside, Lyney walked over with his usual effortless grace, gently gathering the last loose strands of your hair away from the zipper before carefully fastening it. His fingers moved slowly, not because the zipper was difficult, but because some selfish part of him wanted the quiet moment to last a little longer.

Once the dress was fully closed, he simply admired your reflection through the mirror, smiling with such open affection that it became impossible to mistake what he was thinking. "Magnifique," he'd murmur almost to himself. "I knew you'd be beautiful but... somehow you've still managed to exceed every expectation I had."

When you laughed and accused him of exaggerating, he'd place a hand dramatically over his heart, feigning offense. "Exaggerating? Mon amour, just because I'm a magician doesn't mean I'd lie about something like this!" His attention would drift toward the dressing room door before an entirely new thought crossed his mind.

The playful confidence on his face would slowly melt into exaggerated concern as he looked back at you with an almost mournful sigh. "This is a disaster." At your confused look, he'd gesture helplessly toward the mirror. "Because the moment we walk out there, everyone else gets to see you looking like this too!" A quiet laugh escaped him as he gently offered you his arm. "I suppose I'll survive... though I may spend the rest of the evening reminding everyone that the most breathtaking woman in the room already chose her escort."

Even as the two of you left the dressing room, he'd catch your hand almost absentmindedly, smiling to himself as though he still couldn't quite believe that the person standing beside him, the one wearing the beautiful dress he'd been so eager to see, was the very same person he was lucky enough to call his.

── ( 𝒙. ) xiao would never complain when you suggested shopping together, though it would be painfully obvious from the beginning that he was completely out of his element. The bustling streets, the endless rows of clothing, the cheerful attendants trying to convince you to try 'just one more dress,' none of it particularly interested him.

While you disappeared behind the dressing room curtain, he would quietly take his place outside with his back resting against the wall, arms folded loosely across his chest as he silently watched people come and go. To anyone passing by, he appeared as calm and detached as ever, seemingly indifferent to how much time had passed. In truth, his attention never truly strayed far from the closed door.

Every so often, the faint rustle of fabric from inside would make his gaze drift toward it before he deliberately forced himself to look elsewhere, quietly reminding himself that you deserved privacy. Still, despite centuries of discipline, he couldn't completely stop his thoughts from wandering. He found himself wondering whether you'd found the dress you'd been searching for, whether your eyes had lit up with that quiet happiness he had come to treasure more than any grand display of joy.

That alone was enough to make the wait worthwhile. When your voice finally called his name, asking if he could help with the zipper, he hesitated only briefly before approaching the door. "May I come in?" Receiving your permission, he opened it carefully, making certain not to intrude any more than necessary. The moment he stepped inside, however, he forgot to move.

His golden eyes lifted instinctively toward you, and for several quiet seconds, he simply stood there. The elegant dress, the way it complemented you so naturally, the graceful line of your shoulders where the zipper remained undone, everything came together into a sight so unexpectedly beautiful that even Xiao, who had witnessed landscapes and heavens untouched by mortal eyes, found himself momentarily speechless.

He immediately lowered his gaze again out of respect, though the faint softening around his eyes lingered. "You..." The unfinished word escaped almost involuntarily before he quietly collected himself. "The dress suits you." The compliment was simple, almost understated, yet it carried a sincerity that made it infinitely more precious than any elaborate praise.

Only after a few more moments did Xiao quietly gesture for you to gather your hair over one shoulder. Waiting until you had done so, he stepped behind you with measured movements, careful to leave you enough space that you never felt crowded. His hands, so often stained by battle and accustomed to wielding a polearm with impossible precision, became almost impossibly gentle as they found the tiny metal zipper. Rather than rushing, he guided it upward slowly, ensuring the delicate fabric never snagged while taking great care not to brush against your skin any more than absolutely necessary.

Once it reached the top, he instinctively smoothed the slightest wrinkle where the material rested against your shoulders before immediately withdrawing his hand, almost surprised by the unconscious gesture himself. Taking a step back, he quietly admired the finished result through the mirror without realizing he was doing so.

It wasn't until you turned around and caught him looking that he blinked, the faintest warmth coloring the tips of his ears. "What?" he'd ask, genuinely confused by your amused smile. When you softly pointed out that he'd been staring, he looked away almost at once. "I wasn't." The denial came just a fraction too quickly to sound convincing. A brief silence followed before he sighed very quietly, accepting defeat. "Perhaps... for a moment."

His eyes found yours again, calmer now, carrying a tenderness he rarely allowed anyone else to witness. "You look beautiful." The words were spoken so naturally they sounded less like a compliment and more like a simple truth. Without another unnecessary remark, he extended his hand toward you with quiet hesitation.

The moment your fingers slipped into his, he gently intertwined them with his own before leading you from the dressing room, maintaining that small, reassuring contact for the rest of the afternoon. Xiao had never been particularly skilled with grand romantic gestures, yet the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed across the back of your hand every now.

── ( 𝒂. ) alhaitham would have anticipated from the beginning that a shopping trip involved a considerable amount of waiting, which was precisely why he'd brought a book with him before the two of you had even left home. While you disappeared into the dressing room carrying an armful of dresses, he'd settle comfortably into the nearest chair, crossing one leg over the other as he resumed reading from the exact sentence he'd left off earlier that morning.

Every now and then an enthusiastic shop attendant would attempt to strike up a conversation or ask whether he'd like to look around while he waited, only to receive a polite but unmistakably dismissive, "I'm occupied." Despite how deeply engrossed he appeared, his attention wasn't entirely consumed by the pages before him.

Each time the dressing room curtain shifted or another customer stepped outside to ask for an opinion, his emerald eyes would briefly lift from the book before returning to the text. It was subtle enough that almost nobody would notice, least of all you.

When your voice finally reached him, asking whether he could help with the zipper, he calmly slipped a bookmark between the pages before standing. "Coming." He knocked once before opening the door, allowing you every opportunity to stop him if you weren't ready. The instant he stepped inside, however, his usual rhythm faltered almost imperceptibly.

His gaze settled on you, quietly taking everything in with the same careful observation he devoted to every subject that genuinely captured his interest. He noticed how naturally the color complemented you, the way the dress rested perfectly against your figure, and the elegant simplicity of the exposed zipper waiting between your shoulders.

Unlike many others, he didn't react with dramatic surprise. Instead, he simply looked and kept looking. "An excellent choice," he finally concluded after several thoughtful seconds. "The tailoring is exceptional." Another pause followed as his eyes met yours through the mirror. "It suits you considerably more than the previous one."

Without another word, Alhaitham stepped behind you, waiting until you lifted your hair before carefully taking hold of the zipper. His movements were calm, efficient, and impossibly precise, drawing it upward in one seamless motion before instinctively straightening the fabric where it had shifted during the fitting.

Even after finishing, he remained standing there for another moment, quietly studying your reflection through the mirror with the same analytical focus he'd use while evaluating an ancient manuscript. "Turn once for me," he'd say matter-of-factly. After you obliged, he'd observe the way the fabric moved before giving a small nod of approval, clearly satisfied with his assessment. "The fit is perfect."

When you laughed and reminded him that you were asking your boyfriend rather than the Acting Grand Sage for his opinion, the faintest smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. He stepped forward once more, brushing away an imaginary speck of lint from your shoulder before meeting your gaze through the mirror again. "You're right."

Another deliberate pause stretched between the two of you, just long enough for you to think he'd already finished speaking. "You look very beautiful." The compliment arrived with quiet certainty, entirely free of exaggeration because, to him, embellishment only weakened sincerity.

Taking your shopping bags before you even reached for them yourself, he opened the dressing room door and stood aside, one hand resting lightly against the frame. "Shall we?" he asked, the slightest hint of amusement lingering beneath his otherwise composed expression.

"Unless you've decided that trying on another half-dozen dresses is somehow an efficient use of our afternoon." Yet despite the dry remark, he remained perfectly willing to follow you into whichever boutique you chose next, his book tucked neatly beneath one arm while the other naturally found its place beside you as the two of you continued down the street together.