Do You Want to Save Her?

When he returned to the front area, Esper was waiting on a plush settee, legs crossed, posture elegant, a cup of tea in her hand as if she had been here for hours rather than minutes.

She looked up the moment he appeared, smile bright.

“There he is.”

Soren walked up to her with a calm that didn’t match the annoyance sitting under his skin, then stopped beside her and leaned down just enough to keep his voice low.

“Are you really planning to drag me along to social gatherings,” he murmured.

Esper’s smile stayed in place.

Her eyes didn’t.

For a moment, something bitter flickered behind them, quick and sharp, like the flash of a blade.

“Yes,” she whispered back, and there was no teasing in it.

Soren’s brow creased.

“Essy…”

Esper’s jaw tightened, then she exhaled through her nose, the movement small but controlled.

“I have to.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a hundred letters, a hundred expectations, a hundred people thinking they were allowed to touch her life.

Soren hesitated, then tried anyway, even if he didn’t like the thought of her walking into those rooms alone.

“You don’t have to bring me.”

Esper’s gaze snapped to his for a heartbeat, sharp and tired and very real.

Her smile didn’t vanish, but it turned thin, held up by habit rather than joy.

“I don’t want to do it alone,” she said, a little more serious, a little quieter.

The sentence hit harder than any dramatic speech would have.

Soren’s mouth opened, then closed again, because there wasn’t a clean reply to that, not one that didn’t risk making the moment heavier than she wanted it to be.

He straightened slowly, the annoyance still there, the reluctance still there, but the argument drained out of him like someone had pulled a plug.

“Alright,” he said simply.

Esper blinked once, as if she had expected him to push more, then her smile warmed by a fraction, just enough to be real for half a second before she covered it with her usual brightness.

“Good,” she chirped, then patted the seat beside her. “Sit. They’re going to ask opinions, and we don’t want to be here all day.”

Soren sat down with a sigh, and Esper leaned closer, voice dropping into playful menace.

“Also, you’re not allowed to faint. It would be embarrassing.”

“I’m not going to faint.”

“Mm-hm,” Esper hummed, not believing him.

A staff member approached again with a folder in hand, posture calm.

“We have your measurements. If you would like to choose style details, we can begin the consultation.”

Esper lifted her chin, noble composure snapping back into place.

“Wonderful.”

The staff member glanced at Soren.

“Do you have a preference for a traditional cut, or something more modern.”

Soren’s instincts responded before his annoyance could.

“Traditional, but not bulky. Clean lines, structured shoulders, tapered waist, no excessive embellishment, please.”

Esper’s head turned slowly.

“Who are you?”

Soren glanced at her.

“Someone who doesn’t want to look like I’m wearing my father’s clothes again.”

Esper’s lips pressed together, then she smiled wider.

“Fair.”

The staff member nodded, making notes.

“Any colour preference?”

Esper’s eyes lit up.

“Something bold.”

Soren spoke at the same time.

“Something neutral.”

Esper elbowed him lightly.

“Boring.”

Soren’s gaze stayed flat.

“Practical.”

The staff member paused, politely trapped between them.

“Perhaps a compromise would work? A neutral exterior with a more expressive lining.”

Esper’s eyes gleamed with immediate approval.

“Yes.”

Soren hesitated, then nodded.

“That works.”

“Excellent,” the staff member said smoothly, relieved. “For the exterior, charcoal, midnight blue, or black are common. For lining, we can do patterned silk, or a solid tone that complements complexion.”

Esper leaned closer to Soren, voice sweet.

“Red.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

Esper smiled, innocent.

“Yes.”

Soren glanced at the staff member.

“Not bright red, please.”

Esper pouted.

“Coward.”

Soren ignored her and considered properly, because if this suit was going to be used in noble spaces, it needed to look like he belonged without looking like he was trying too hard. His hair was already striking, his eyes already warm red, and anything too loud would tip him into looking theatrical rather than composed.

“Black exterior,” Soren decided, then added, because he wasn’t immune to making a point, “with a deep wine lining. Please make it subtle.”

Esper’s eyebrows rose, then she smiled slowly.

“Oho. So he has decent taste.”

Soren’s response was flat.

“I always had taste.”

Esper leaned back, delighted.

“He says that like I didn’t watch him try on that tragic olive coat.”

Soren’s jaw tightened.

“We’re not talking about that.”

“We’re always talking about that,” Esper replied sweetly, then turned to the staff member. “Black and wine lining, yes. Make it nice.”

The staff member nodded, noting it down.

“Material. We have wool blends, pure wool, and lighter options depending on season.”

Soren spoke first.

“Wool blend. Durable and breathable, please.”

Esper tilted her head.

“And comfortable.”

Soren glanced at her.

“That too.”

Esper blinked once, like she hadn’t expected agreement, then recovered quickly, smile snapping back.

“Good. I don’t want you whining.”

Soren huffed.

“You’re the one who whines.”

Esper gasped.

“Lies.”

They continued like that, bouncing between practical and playful, Soren keeping the suit grounded, Esper making sure it still looked sharp enough to be worth the effort.

Lapel shape became an argument for two minutes, Esper wanting something more dramatic, Soren insisting on clean and simple, until they settled on something slightly sharper than Soren’s first choice, just enough to satisfy Esper’s need for impact.

By the time the staff member closed the folder, the suit existed as a plan rather than fabric, but Soren could already imagine it, black against white hair, wine lining flashing only when he moved, structured enough to stop him looking swallowed, fitted enough to look intentional without tipping into delicate.

It wasn’t completely his idea.

But it wasn’t bad, either.

“Wonderful,” the staff member said. “We will schedule your first fitting accordingly.”

Esper smiled brightly.

“Perfect.”

Soren shifted slightly, the familiar dread of payment rising, because of course this was going to be expensive, and of course Esper was going to try to pay, and of course he was going to argue out of principle.

He inhaled, readying himself.

Esper’s finger landed gently over his lips.

Soren froze, eyes narrowing at her hand, because the gesture was intimate looking in a way she didn’t usually go for unless she wanted to make a point.

Esper’s smile was sweet, but her gaze was firm.

“Don’t even try it.”

Soren tried to speak anyway, and her finger pressed a fraction more, not harsh, just decisive.

“I already paid in advance,” she said quietly. “This one’s not up for debate.”

Soren exhaled in resignation, then leaned back with a defeated sigh.

“Of course you did.”

Esper’s smile widened, satisfied, then she withdrew her hand as if she had never done anything at all.

Soren stared at her for a beat, then let out a half-humoured breath.

“This is making me feel like some gigolo.”

Esper’s laugh slipped out, small and genuine, the kind that didn’t sound polished first.

“Please. You wish.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious.”

Esper tilted her head, eyes gleaming.

“You certainly have the face for one.”

Soren’s cheeks warmed on reflex, irritation and embarrassment tangling together, and Esper watched the reaction with smug delight.

“Alright,” Soren muttered, standing. “Are we done now?”

Esper stood too, hooking her arm through his again like she couldn’t resist the habit.

“Now we’re done with my schedule.”

Soren glanced back at the parlour, then forward towards the street, already craving air that didn’t smell like wealth.

Esper tugged him towards the exit, and the moment they stepped outside, the noise of the district hit them again, more honest, more alive.

Soren let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“Thank fuck it’s over.”

Esper hummed in agreement, posture loosening a fraction.

“Stop being so dramatic. You survived, didn’t you?.”

Soren gave her a flat look.

“Barely.”

Esper giggled.

The atmosphere changed gradually as they walked, as if Esper was intentionally steering them away from polished streets and back into something warmer.

The buildings became less pristine, the crowd more varied, and the air filled with the smell of fried food and sugar again.

It was only when Soren realised he could hear vendors shouting without restraint that he felt his shoulders drop properly.

Esper, somehow, looked more at home here too, despite the fact she still stood out like a jewel dropped into a pile of pebbles.

She held herself with that effortless confidence, the kind that made people glance once, then look away, not because she was intimidating, but because she looked like someone you weren’t supposed to bother.

Soren was still in uniform, still looking like the tragic student she had complained about, but now he had the promise of a suit hanging over his future like a threat.

Esper stopped at a stall without warning and bought two skewers before he could protest, one shoved into his hand immediately, the other held between her fingers with casual grace.

Soren stared at the food, then at her.

“We just ate.”

Esper took a bite anyway, cheeks rounding slightly as she chewed.

“And yet, food exists.”

“That’s not logic.”

“Whatever, it’s been hours since we ate,” she replied, smug around the mouthful, then added, because she couldn’t resist, “eat it. It’ll improve your mood.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed. “My mood is fine.”

Esper hummed, not believing him.

He ate anyway, because he was hungry in the way people got hungry after walking and being dragged around by someone who treated the day like a marathon.

The skewer was simple, salty, hot, and the relief of something uncomplicated made his irritation fade further.

Esper watched him take the first bite and smiled.

“So you were hungry too?”

Soren didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding.

They walked like that for a while, Esper nibbling her skewer, Soren eating his more steadily, the noise of the street wrapping around them and making the day feel less staged.

Esper’s arm stayed linked with his for part of it, not always, not constantly, but enough that anyone watching would assume closeness.

Soren knew why she did it.

It was part of her performance, the public-facing image, the same way she wore makeup like armour and smiled like a blade.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the exhaustion of it.

By the time Esper finished her skewer, she tossed the stick into a bin with neat precision, then turned her head towards him with a smile that was too polite for what she meant.

“I should… fix my appearance,” she said lightly. “There’s a place nearby.”

Soren blinked once, then understood, and the fact he understood made him sigh internally.

“Go,” he said, voice calm. “I’ll wait nearby.”

Esper’s smile brightened.

“Good boy.”

Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“Stop treating me like a pet.”

“Mm-hm~” she hummed, already stepping away.

She disappeared into the flow of the crowd, slipping between people with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to move without being stopped.

Within seconds, she was out of sight, her bright outfit swallowed by the mess of the street.

Soren stood still for a moment, then found a bench near the edge of the walkway and sat down with a slow exhale.

His shoulders sank as soon as his weight hit the wood.

The day had been long, and not in the way training was long, not in the way fights were long, but in the social way that demanded constant attention, constant reacting, constant managing of faces and words and stares.

Esper was fun to be around, genuinely, in short bursts, because her teasing was sharp enough to keep him awake and her confidence was oddly contagious.

Spending an entire day with her, though, meant being around her performance for hours, the bright mask, the playful extrovert act, the constant probing for reactions.

It was too much.

Not her, not Esper herself, not the person underneath, but the version of her that never stopped moving, never stopped smiling, never stopped acting like everything was a joke even when the day had started because she was tired and furious and sick of people trying to touch her life.

Soren leaned back, letting his head rest against the bench for a second, eyes half-lidded.

‘You’re exhausting,’ he thought, then sighed internally at himself, because the thought sounded harsher than it was meant to.

He wasn’t sick of her.

He cared, more than he would ever say out loud, because Esper had a way of making herself difficult to dismiss, and because beneath all that polish she was stubborn enough to keep walking even when everything around her tried to turn her into a prize.

He stared ahead at the street, watching people pass, letting the noise fill his ears so his thoughts didn’t echo too loudly.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth anyway when a couple of memories flickered through, Esper’s delighted laugh in the restaurant when he tried to pay, the way she had pinked for half a heartbeat when he had called her beautiful, the look in her eyes when she had said she didn’t want to do it alone.

Soren’s smile faded into something quieter.

He hoped she was doing okay.

His gaze drifted down to his left hand without him meaning it to, drawn by a familiar weight.

The ring.

A black band with a ruby set neatly in the centre, not gaudy, not overly ornate, just solid, clean, expensive enough to matter without screaming about it.

Esper had bought it on the very day they met, shoved it onto his hand with that same fearless confidence she used for everything, then used it later as proof in front of his mother, a prop to sell a lie neither of them had ever truly committed to.

Since then, Soren had rarely taken it off.

Partly because it was useful, partly because it was easier to leave it where it was than to explain why he didn’t wear it, and partly because the ring had become one of those small constants that anchored him in this mess of a life.

His thumb brushed the edge of the band absentmindedly.

A thought crept in, quiet and inconvenient.

‘Should I get her something in return?’

It wasn’t romance.

It wasn’t some sudden change in their relationship.

It was simply the reality that she had given him a ring months ago, and she was, technically, his fiancée, even if the engagement was fake, even if the affection was performance, even if the entire thing existed to block his mother’s plans and give Esper room to breathe.

A gift could be practical.

A gift could be a signal.

A gift could be a way to make the engagement look less one-sided, less like she was dragging him along as a prop.

Soren stared at the ruby, warm red catching the sunlight, and his fingers stilled.

He didn’t know if it was a good idea.

He only knew the thought had arrived, and it didn’t leave as easily as it should have.

————「❤︎」————