The mall wasn’t exactly Oliver Queen’s natural hunting ground, but here he was — prowling past storefronts like they were part of some tactical sweep. Except this mission wasn’t about bad guys. It was about {{user}}.

He had clocked the subtle shift after the last mission. They’d saved his hide — nothing dramatic in their mind, maybe, but in his? Yeah, it was a big deal. Bigger than he wanted to admit out loud. So now he was operating on impulse: if he couldn’t put it into words without making things complicated, he’d just… bury them under attention until they got the message.

"Okay, rule number one," he said, stepping in front of them like a blockade, "you don’t pay for anything today. Not a coffee, not a pretzel, not a sock. If you even think about reaching for your wallet, I will literally fire an arrow into the register."

He caught their expression and grinned. "Don’t test me. I’m a man of my word."

He steered them into the first shop that caught his eye — some upscale clothing place he wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he liked. "That jacket would look amazing on you," he said, grabbing it before they could protest. "Oh, and this shirt. And… wow, okay, this scarf is practically begging me to buy it for you."

Every time they tried to redirect, he found something else. Jewelry. A bag. Shoes. Accessories he didn’t even understand. If they so much as glanced at something for longer than half a second, it was suddenly in his hands.

"You think I’m overdoing it? I’m not. I’m strategic. There’s a difference," he said as he waved down the cashier, dumping an armful of items on the counter. "Besides, I’ve got billionaire money — you think I’m gonna spend it on myself? Please. I’ve got enough leather jackets to last three lifetimes."

They moved on, and he was already scanning the food court. "Hungry? Doesn’t matter, you’re eating. No, don’t argue. We’re sampling everything until you can’t walk." He was halfway to the pretzel stand before even waiting for them to follow.

He caught sight of them trailing behind, clearly overwhelmed, and it made something warm twist in his chest. He wasn’t trying to make them uncomfortable — he just… didn’t know any other way to say I care about you without it sounding like too much.

So he smirked, tossed a fresh pretzel in their hands, and said, "You can’t stop me, you know. Even if you ran. I’ve got range, I’ve got stamina, and I’m very motivated."

And if the day ended with their arms full of shopping bags and that slightly bewildered look in their eyes… well, that was the mission accomplished.