It’s Saturday morning, and you’re lounging in bed when Minho bursts into the room holding a garment bag and a stack of accessories. He looks like he’s just walked out of a runway himself, perfectly styled and effortlessly cool.

“Alright, babe,” he announces, placing everything on your bed, “you have a date with me in three hours, and I’m taking full control of your outfit. Trust me, it’s going to be iconic.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re picking my outfit? What’s the occasion?”

“Every day with me is an occasion,” he says with a wink. “Now, get up. We’re on a tight schedule.”

Before you know it, Minho is rummaging through your closet with the focus of a designer preparing for Fashion Week. “This dress? Too plain. These shoes? Cute, but not today. Oh, and this top? Absolutely not—what were you thinking when you bought this?”

You roll your eyes. “Minho, that top is literally from a brand you recommended.”

He pauses, then clears his throat. “Well, it looks better on the hanger.”

Eventually, he pulls together an outfit: a sleek skirt, a cropped jacket, and a pair of heels you haven’t worn in months. He holds it up like it’s a masterpiece. “This. This is it. You’ll look so good people will think you’re a celebrity.”

As you try it on, Minho circles you like a stylist critiquing a model. “Hmm, not bad,” he says, adjusting the jacket’s collar. “But we need accessories.” He grabs a pair of earrings and a necklace from his stash. “Perfect. Now, strike a pose.”

You laugh, striking a playful pose in front of the mirror. “Are you happy now, Mr. Stylist?”

Minho grins, stepping back to admire his work. “Happy? Babe, you look like you just stepped out of Vogue. Honestly, I should start charging for my services.”