Do You Want to Save Her?

Outside, the street noise hit them again, and Soren found himself a little grateful for it, because it gave him something to focus on that wasn’t Esper’s smug face.

Esper tugged him along without asking, as if she had already mapped out the day in her head, and he let it happen because fighting her on navigation was always pointless.

They moved down the street, past a bakery, past a stall selling cheap scarves, past a shop with a faded sign advertising tailoring repairs.

Soren’s eyes caught on the tailoring sign.

Esper noticed immediately.

“No.”

Soren glanced at her.

“What do you mean, no.”

“That’s not a shop for buying,” she said, tone firm with the confidence of someone who had never been denied anything important. “That’s a shop for fixing. I’m not letting you turn this into some depressing ‘I only need repairs’ moment.”

Soren blinked at the fact she had clocked the intention so quickly, then scoffed.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Esper’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced.

“You suck at lying.”

Soren didn’t argue. Instead, he let her drag him past it, because the truth was he did need more than repairs, and he didn’t want to admit she was right.

They turned into another street where the shops were slightly nicer, not noble-nice, but more curated, displays arranged with intent, fabrics that looked softer, stitching that looked more careful.

The prices would be higher, but still within reach, the kind of place where Soren could buy several outfits without feeling nauseous.

Esper stopped in front of a store with a clean front window and a simple sign.

“This one,” she announced.

Soren glanced at the display, then at her.

“You’re taking this seriously.”

Esper smiled sweetly.

“Of course I am. I can’t have my fiancé walking around dressed like a tragic orphan.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not dressed like that.”

Esper stepped closer, poked his uniform collar, then smiled wider.

“You are literally dressed like a student right now.”

“That’s what I am.”

Esper hummed, pleased.

“Not today.”

She pushed open the door.

The bell chimed again, and Soren stepped into the next shop with the resigned patience of someone who had accepted his fate.

The second store was quieter than the first, not in a stiff way, more in a calm, curated way.

The lighting was softer, the racks spaced out so browsing felt less like rummaging, and the clothes leaned towards clean cuts and neat layering, things that could be dressed up or down depending on who wore them.

Soren found himself relaxing almost automatically.

This was closer to what he understood, a space built around silhouette and versatility rather than shouting luxury.

Esper drifted through the racks with an ease that didn’t quite match the location, still too polished, still too confident, her bold outfit turning heads even here.

The staff glanced at her, then at Soren, then quickly returned to pretending they hadn’t clocked the ring on his finger and the arm-linking.

Soren moved towards a display of jackets, fingers brushing fabric, eyes assessing weight and structure.

He picked up a fitted coat in dark navy, held it up against his torso, and immediately felt the difference.

The line would sit clean on his shoulders without trying to force him into looking broader than he was, and the colour would make his hair stand out without washing him out.

Esper leaned in, studying it, then nodded once.

“That’s decent.”

Soren glanced at her.

“Decent?”

“Yes.”

She lifted her chin.

“It’s not boring, and it won’t make you look like you’re going to nap in a ditch. That’s a win.”

He ignored the insult and added the coat to his growing pile.

Esper, meanwhile, had found something else entirely, a light jacket with a sharper waistline and subtle decorative stitching, the kind of design that hinted at noble influence without being outright formal. She held it up with obvious satisfaction.

“Try this.”

Soren took one look and felt suspicion flare.

“That looks like something you would wear.”

Esper smiled, the sweet kind she used when she was about to be annoying.

“It looks like something that stops people getting the wrong idea when they see us together.”

Soren’s mouth tightened.

“What wrong idea?”

Esper lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.

“That you’re my escort. Or my aide. Or whatever word they use when they don’t know what to do with you.”

“Nobody thinks that,” Soren muttered, even though he could hear how unconvincing it sounded.

Esper’s smile stayed, but her tone softened a fraction, less teasing, more practical.

“Cutie… some of them will. It’s not about you, it’s about them.”

He hated that she was probably right, because he had felt the looks in the restaurant, the quick mental arithmetic, the way nobles categorised people before they even spoke.

Still, he wasn’t going to let her bully him into wearing something ridiculous.

Soren took the jacket anyway, because refusing would only feed her, and headed towards the changing rooms again.

This time, when he stepped out, the jacket sitting neatly on his frame, he found himself pausing.

It didn’t look bad.

Annoyingly, it didn’t look bad at all.

The waistline gave him shape, but not in a way that screamed feminine, more in a way that looked tailored, intentional.

The stitching caught the light subtly, drawing attention upward towards his hair and eyes rather than down towards his build.

It made him look, in a frustrating way, expensive.

Esper watched him with smug satisfaction.

“See~”

Soren stared into the mirror, then glanced at her.

“I hate that you’re right.”

Esper clasped her hands together, delighted.

“Say it again. Slower this time.”

Soren turned back towards the cubicle.

“Piss off.”

Esper followed him to the curtain, leaning in so her voice dropped into teasing intimacy that was entirely fake and entirely effective.

“So, you’re going to buy it?”

Soren didn’t answer, because answering would admit she had won.

Instead, he changed back into his uniform, came out holding the jacket, and added it to the pile without a word.

Esper beamed, smug enough to be unbearable.

They moved through the shop together, picking items with a rhythm that quickly turned into a tug-of-war.

Soren chose clean basics, fitted trousers, layered shirts, jumpers in colours that wouldn’t clash with his hair.

Esper pushed him towards pieces that would photograph well, that would look “proper” if he ever had to stand beside her in public, even if neither of them wanted to play that game longer than necessary.

At one point, Soren pulled a soft grey top from a rack, the kind of colour that felt safe by default, neutral, understated, impossible to mess up. He held it up, considered it, then nodded to himself.

“This works.”

Esper stared at it, then at him, her mouth twisting like she was debating whether to bother.

“...Does it, though?”

Soren narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah.”

Esper stepped a little closer, tilting her head, not smug, just doubtful in that irritating way.

“I don’t know. It’s fine on its own, but… on you it might end up looking a bit… dead?”

Soren went still anyway.

He glanced at the mirror, held the grey against his chest, and saw it immediately.

Against his current colouring it dulled everything, made his skin look flatter, made his hair less striking, pulled the warmth out of his eyes instead of bringing it forward.

‘Damn it.’

Esper didn’t gloat; she just watched his expression shift, then let out a small, almost relieved hum, like she had been worried she was about to argue for nothing.

“Yeah… that,” she said quietly, then reached past him and pulled out a shirt in a deeper tone, warm and rich, the sort of colour that put heat back into his complexion. “Try this instead.”

He took it, held it up against his chest, then glanced back at the mirror, the difference obvious enough to irritate him.

The warmth came back into his face, his eyes looked less sharp and more alive, even his hair seemed to sit brighter against it.

“…Fine,” he muttered, because denying it would be stupid. “It works better.”

Esper’s grin widened immediately, satisfied without needing to rub it in.

“I know.”

Soren exhaled through his nose, grabbed the few pieces he had already picked out, then added the new shirt on top, building a neater stack in his arms.

“Come on,” he said, already turning.

Esper hummed, pleased, and followed as they headed towards the counter.

This time, Soren moved first, coins already in hand.

Esper’s hand slapped down on the counter again, faster.

Soren stared at her.

Esper stared back, smug.

“My turn.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Esper’s smile sharpened.

“Yes.”

The staff member behind the counter watched them with careful neutrality, the kind of neutrality that said they had seen stranger couples argue about money many times before.

Soren spoke, voice calm, practical.

“I paid last time. Let me pay this one.”

Esper’s brows lifted.

“So you admit you’re keeing count.”

Soren’s mouth tightened.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It is what you implied,” Esper replied, then leaned closer, voice dropping into faux seriousness. “Cutie, if you keep paying for things, people will think you’re trying to prove something.”

Soren stared at her, unimpressed.

“People already think plenty of things about me. What’s one more?”

Esper’s smile widened, delighted at the bluntness, then she pushed her coins forward with a decisive flick.

“And I’m not fine with that. So, I’m paying.”

Soren tried to slide his coins in anyway, but Esper’s hand snapped out and covered them, her nails tapping lightly against his knuckles, the touch far more smug than gentle.

“Stop,” she said, sweetly authoritative. “Let your fiancée spoil you.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“This isn’t spoiling. This is you being competitive.”

Esper gasped.

“How dare you accuse me of such an accurate thing.”

The staff member cleared their throat softly, and Esper’s smile turned angelic as she addressed them.

“Please.”

Soren knew when he was outmanoeuvred.

He leaned back, expression flat, and let Esper pay.

Esper finished the transaction with an ease that made it look like she had never had to consider whether she could afford anything in her life, then turned back to Soren with a triumphant smile.

Soren stared at her, then spoke with calm bitterness.

“You’re unbearable.”

Esper beamed.

“Thank you.”

The bag was handed over and Soren took it, slipping it cleanly into his inventory.

They left the shop with their spoils tucked away, and the street welcomed them back with noise and sunlight.

For a while, they wandered without a clear destination, Esper tugging him towards a third store that specialised in simple accessories, belts, gloves, scarves, the kind of pieces that could change the entire impression of an outfit.

Soren picked up a belt in dark leather, tested the buckle, nodded once.

Esper picked up a scarf with a bold pattern, held it up against him, and her smile turned thoughtful.

“That’s cute.”

Soren narrowed his eyes.

“It looks like shit on me.”

Esper’s grin sharpened.

“I think it suits you.”

“It’s too loud.”

“It’s fun,” she corrected.

“I’m not wearing that.”

Esper’s eyes sparkled, mischievous.

“Not even for me?”

Soren stared at her, unimpressed.

“Especially not for you.”

Esper laughed, unbothered, then tossed it back onto the rack like she had never cared.

They found gloves next, practical ones for colder weather, and Soren chose a pair without thinking too hard.

Esper approved, then immediately tried to push a second pair on him, more decorative, more “noble acceptable.”

Soren refused that one outright.

Esper pouted, exaggerated and fake.

“You’re so mean.”

Soren’s response was flat.

“I’m saving you from your own taste.”

Esper gasped.

“My taste is excellent.”

“It’s excessive.”

“Says the person who couldn’t even look me in the eye earlier~” Esper teased.

Soren didn’t argue, because he didn’t want to get dragged into that conversation, and because, annoyingly, her excessive taste did work, on her, amazingly so.

Still, that didn’t mean it would work on him.

At the counter, Esper reached for her coins again.

Soren moved faster, placing his down first with a calm decisiveness that made it clear he had planned it.

Esper’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oh?”

Soren kept his gaze on the staff member.

“I’m paying.”

Esper leaned in, voice sweet with threat.

“Cutie, you’re getting brave.”

Soren’s mouth tightened.

“You already won twice.”

Esper’s eyes narrowed, then she smiled slowly, like she had decided to allow it.

“Fine. I’ll let you have this.”

Soren glanced at her.

“Let?”

Esper’s smile widened.

“Yes. Let. You’re welcome.”

He ignored her and finished paying.

They left the accessory shop and drifted back into the main shopping street, and Soren realised, with mild surprise, that he had actually bought a fair amount.

Enough that his inventory felt heavier, not physically, but mentally, the reminder that he now owned more than two modes of existence, uniform or loungewear.

Esper watched him glance at the street, then nudged his arm with her shoulder.

“Aren’t you happier?”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re acting as if you’ve achieved something heroic.”

Esper smiled sweetly.

“I have. I was able to get you out of your uniform or loungewear for once.”

Soren huffed.

“I should’ve come with someone else.”

Esper giggled.

“You’re so dramatic, I know you like spending time with me really~”

He glanced at her, then at the surrounding shops, then back at her again, because something about the day still felt unfinished in the way she moved, the way she kept checking the street ahead as if she was steering them towards something specific.

“We’re not done, I take it?” he asked.

Esper’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh? He really is learning.”

Soren didn’t dignify that with a response.

“So, are we?”

Esper hummed, then leaned closer, voice dropping into teasing secrecy.

“Nope. We have one more place to go before the date is over.”

Soren’s brows pulled together.

“Where.”

Esper only smiled, bright and smug, then hooked her arm through his again with that decisive familiarity that always made it look more intimate than it was.

“Come on, Cutie,” she said, already tugging him forward. “No more questions.”

Soren let himself be dragged, because arguing was pointless, and because, annoyingly, he wanted to know what she was planning.

————「❤︎」————