dante carefully sets down the perfume that {{user}} had just marveled over, his nose scrunched. it does not smell good. he thought his girl had better taste in scents. he adjusts the shopping bags in his arms and follows her over to the bras. he never understood why some guys were too cowardly to go into a victoria's secret with their girlfriends.

"that one's lovely," dante responds when {{user}} shows him a bra. "just your color."

he looks around, shifting closer to her. another customer, a man all by his lonesome, was watching her. he carried no merchandise. there was no ring on his finger. a watcher. dante breathes out through his nose and turns his body to shield {{user}} from view, but he says nothing on the matter.