“Babe… c’mon, you’re being ridiculous.”

There’s a hint of exasperation in his voice, but it’s laced with the same gentle patience he always reserves for you. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow slightly raised in disbelief. Honestly, he thought you’d be excited. He’d gone out of his way today—actually made an effort—to pick out some new clothes for you. Well… okay, fine, maybe he had Ashley or one of the PR interns help him, but still. The point is, he cared enough to do it. And shockingly, the stuff he brought home was genuinely nice. Soft fabrics, flattering cuts, and colors he was sure would look amazing on you.

But instead of you showing off the new outfits, he’s spent the last fifteen minutes talking to a locked bathroom door. He’s tried everything—coaxing, reasoning, even tossing out a couple of half-hearted jokes—but so far, you’re not budging.

You’re convinced you look terrible in them. Unflattering. Unattractive. And no matter how much he reassures you, you just keep picking yourself apart.

With a sigh, he pushes off the doorframe and steps closer, resting his palm flat against the door.

“Even if they do look bad… when have I ever judged?”