she doesnât know, really, just how many hours she and fushiguro have been shopping for him. two, give or take, maybe? enough to know that heâs a stone wall of a guy to work with, definitely. this is the 5th shirt heâs calling himself waving away, never-minding the fact that itâs she whoâs flitting through the store anyway, but she isnât budging ⌠not this time!
nobara isnât sure if she wants to run her hands down her face or toss them up in exasperation, but sheâs sure of one thing: fushiguro megumi is a tough cookie to crack â heâs like a senbei fried extra hard!
the store is a little lively with patrons jumping on discount sales and other benefits, and they part around where nobara stands with a shirt in her hand, and where megumi sits looking at her fifth choice like it personally slighted him by not being his preferred color.
â it wouldnât kill you to try a shade that isnât black, you know. â
she clicks her tongue in half admonishment, half teasing, but really ⌠sheâs seen his wardrobe, knows he can do so much better! she holds up the shirt, a green shade, against him and tuts scrutinizingly.
â i think itâs cute, it brings out your eyes. whyâre you so against it? â
to say this wasnât fun wouldâve been a sore understatement. it hadnât been the first time theyâd gone shopping together, willingly or not, and every time the outing ended the same wayâ kugisaki holding about four bags worth of clothes, and megumiâs hands stuffed carefully in his pockets. this time, however, the tone had shifted in a way he did not like in the slightest. the fiery determination in her eyes spelled trouble, and while heâd much rather try to ignore it⌠he couldnât.
a couple zooms right past him, the boyfriend bumping shoulders against him unintentionallyâ he takes no offense, but grimaces at the painful reminder of being in a place with so many people. but she looked happy; the hint of a smile curling at her lips whenever she thought sheâd finally cracked the code.
âwho says it wouldnât?â bitter sarcasm drips from his tongue like a snakeâs venom, but he quickly reels it back in, a palm going to rub at the nape of his neck, green hues scanning over the fabric she was holding up, gaze flitting to her expectant little expression before finally passing judgement. âitâs⌠itâs okay.â words that hang to his lips like they wanted to come out, but never truly did. âi can try it on.â for you, he wants to say, but stops before he can.
his arms extendâ digits pinching at the fabric, before folding it over his arm. his expression doesnât change an iota. âif i like itâ will you let it go?â
