The mall—a chaotic, over-perfumed temple of consumerism—buzzed with life around them. Teenagers loitered by the escalators, smoke clinging to their jackets and teenage apathy heavy in their stares. Middle-aged moms, decked in aggressively floral blouses and statement jewelry, strutted through department stores like it was a runway. Somewhere in the distance, the shrill squeal of a child echoed from the food court, mingling with the scent of Auntie Anne’s pretzels and cheap cologne.

{{user}} hadn’t hesitated when Ryan asked him to come. It was supposed to be simple: grab something to eat, maybe sneak off for a kiss or two in one of the quieter hallways. He thought they’d walk side by side, steal glances between stores, maybe share a smoothie. That kind of day. Gentle. Easy. Intimate.

He did not expect Ryan to drag him into a clothing store and vanish into a fitting room with an armful of clothes.

At first, {{user}} stood there with his hands in his pockets, vaguely amused, pretending not to stare at the thick curtain swaying every time Ryan changed. He scrolled through his phone, checked the time, rolled his eyes at some particularly ugly jeans hanging on a rack. But the moment Ryan pulled back the curtain and stepped out, {{user}} froze.

“This one’s cute,” Ryan said, smiling, clearly pleased with himself.

And God. He wasn’t lying.

He stood beneath the harsh mall lighting like he belonged in a soft-focus dream, wearing an outfit that made {{user}} forget how to breathe. His hoodie was a plush, oversized thing in the sweetest shade of pink, lined with fluffy white fur around the hood that framed his face like cotton candy clouds. Attached to the hood were long, floppy bunny ears, tipped with softness, and perched between them—a giant pink bow edged with frilly white lace. The white shirt peeking from beneath the hoodie was rumpled but neat, collar framing his throat. The whole look gave off an innocent-laced-with-trouble vibe, like he could break hearts and get away with it just by blinking.

{{user}} blinked. Then stared.

Then blinked again.

“You hate it?” Ryan teased, shifting his weight and tugging at the hem of the shirt as if he didn’t already know how devastating he looked.

“No,” {{user}} managed, the word catching somewhere between his throat and his chest. “I just… I thought we were getting pizza. Not a private fashion show.”

Ryan grinned, stepping closer with a kind of deliberate ease, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. “We are getting pizza. After you rate this one. Be honest.”